It’s amazing how we go through life in such a reactionary style we forget
significance or even that we’re living it. I’m 25. She kicks my ***
at scrabble she puts up fierce defenses with words, we have hypothetical
debates about inconsistencies of irrelevant fantasies we create.
I never win debates even when I do my point of view is anchored in her
an adjunct professor at UVA my doctoral dissertation due today
on transcendentalists and Baraka Amiri/I am for others what good professors
were for me – come in all anxiety, settle down advise voice of poetry.
My daughter Rachel is still a sparkle in our eyes I laugh at wings of butterflies
revel in the Summer heat, bare feet on street spinning fire and sweating salts
shouting limericks and dancing higher than the symphony of space cadet…
Do what has to be done to survive/ winners lose, losers thrive;
those that win indulge in sin to fabricate their lives. I’m 20. To die right now
would hold more infamy. Instructors do what they can/ remember to be a man
say get grades up there’s opportunity. Read but loath the memory hallowed high
rumors used to fly bathroom pass ‘may I?’ The manufactured word.
Never dated, been kissed/adolescence missed reading sweet novels, luscious prose/
in rhyme I’d take off her clothes: some secret depressive of a different name thrice
I’d want to take away her pain didn’t know was a badge of honor to remain.
Utterly broke, I searched the halls of my soul/found out what it means to be whole;
realized another can’t complete, yet the crickets weave through early tapestry
feasting on eyes of the moon. **** deflectors give meaning thought trains
careening – I could stay out all night, a 20 year old remembering my age.
I can be Shakespeare I can be Gladius I can be Homer and Socrates.
The bulbous night sky agrees. I’m sophisticated, great aristocrat take that
I AM important. I can be more than one single thing I’m in the making.
Though I can dream a beautiful view I can stay out and be anybody.
In the fall dark mold the sky while they sleep. Wake with dream to keep.
It’s amazing that we build these dreams upon the tops of trees
Poor wind to shake the canopies – or perhaps a sneeze.
Hi all, this is part of my "Slam Poetry" phase. Fun fact, I never actually slammed, I just wrote them. I was very shy on the podium.