Home**
                                            heart
        ­  city
                                                          ­                               apple
                                                           ­        core
           burn
                                                            ­                      hellfire
fall
                           garden
                                                          ­                                                 well
                                             water
                                                           sky
          bottle
                                            ­                                  whiskey & ***
                                            drunk
           ­                                                                 ­                                             lost
            Found
staircase
                                ­                                   tears
                         relief
                                                          ­                           flood
                                               God
                                 ark
                                                             ­                                 promise
               broken
                                                          ­                glass
                                           ­    catastrophe
                                                     ­                                         connectedness
ONE

First:   define terms        with your gut

Second:   find the love between each syl.la.ble

Third:   share meaning with all

I wanna punch a hole in a hole
make the blackest black
crawl inside
   and sleep

this
     is not insomnia
        this is lust
   twisted into the most frustrating knot
             and dawned with the ugliest bow

lying in bed
I swear I can hear the ceiling crack
it is mocking me
   incessant cackling
        I wanna tear this ******* room apart
crumple walls and bury them beneath buckling kness

I cannot stay still
it's like I've been touched
   and left to dry
aroused
   then left to die

        this is no way to end

my bones are starving hyenas
the bed, a watering hole
there is a slumbering carcass next to me
its flies
   buzz tidings of sheep-filled fields
     ~utopias of sleep~

but I
   am surrounded by night
no stars               no sheep               no sleep
only silence
   but not dark enough
this hole is not dark enough

someone punch a hole in me
I need to get some sleep

when my dreams dream of me
  it is a reoccurring affair
    two consenting parties
                    connecting in a liminal space
                                                                                      beyond perception

they question
                         where have you been

I offer rehearsed verse

they freestyle a new testament

I pause unsure

they ad lib ****** sounds

I hype them up

they step back and make room

I stumble into imagination                      ~expertly


when my dreams dream of me
it is a reoccurring affair
a song and dance we both get off to
it is only a matter of time
from one meeting to the next
the law of attraction works both ways
                        double-time
and yet
              every time we consummate
they question
                         where have you been
as if I’ve been cheating with mediocrity

On the sandy shore of a distant memory, Euclid picked up a stick and began tracing the outline of some vague shape. At the first vertices he was interrupted by a hissing sound. Looking down in horror, what initially appeared a stick slowly coiled around his forearm and sank its teeth into his veins. As he watched the ocean spread its depths, he felt the sharp pain of platelets separating from plasma. Euclid walked into the gaping void and awaited reunion. Waves folding around him , his last sight was of a naked woman; she had the curves of a triangle.

the moon is the grand architect
feel her pull in high tide
             feel her push when unsure
  on dark nights
  in urban scapes
   surrounded by artificial light

she still shines through
her blueprints are mystery
especially when ideas are new
   she is a slow reveal
     an inspired temptress
                    lean into this
press fingers into her curves

as she undresses
visibility is not always the goal
but when light reflects
it is inevitable

while we question her cycles
she is not afraid of the rebuild
       the versions we hold of each other
       died many moons ago

Woman birthed. Woman raised.
I am no biproduct
donating ***** does not make one a factor
back strained, she supported me like Atlas
sheltered me with wingspan like Daedalus
her love stronger than the Greek gods
Aphrodite was her apprentice
agape her creation
her love for me surpassed my love of self

beyond Montana’s yellow lines
there is a field
~a field of painted soles
     and laces rubber tread
~a field of ****** curls
     and fallen headlights
where kaleidoscope lenses
look onto twisted frames          like origami halos
where teddy bears hug stop signs like pickets
     fringed in anger
          runaway childhoods sleep cautionary tales
  
beyond Montana’s blushing acne
there are red cup melodies
     blasting from blacked out tints
          weaving blues notes through Rock & Rap
distant cries are drowned by Bass
     or maybe Bud (light)
a haze of teenage eyes
they might as well be ghost riders
whip game copped from GTA
these pubescents are a Vice to their City
blooming sidewalk sloths
like flowerbeds

beyond Montana
is a country of bar stools
   where bar tenders play therapists
        and therapists play coroners
precedents are shots of whiskey - taken to the head
and reflected in flooded eyes

beyond Montana
is a country of MADD mothers and SADD students
beyond Montana
is a country of unexpecting pedestrians
beyond Montana
is a field
~a field of wing-clipped snow angels

That field is Mariah's home now
and she challenges you to change
   yourself
        your friends
             your country
she challenges you to
**STOP DRUNK DRIVING

what came first:
          the inhale      or      the exhale
is the moment of transition
a peak or a valley

this is the question of birth and death
    of rebirth and culmination
the leaf whispered to the seedling
yet neither remembered first touch
  a mother's womb is its own ecosystem
       a dark moist vacuum

           regalia regalia

she wants to lie down
and stop feeding but everything
relies on her
   even if she is just a link
she must be the strongest one
stand up when others sit
spit conviction while others question
        in the endless spinning
    she must have her own orbit
          she has always held tight to what she needs

needless to say
she has been both twig and tree
and she came first waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay
before any man

can creativity be measured
and who determines the standard
what of verses not seismic
enough to register
acrylic or oil
what magnitude does your canvas claim
before completion

enough blending and everything
becomes a mystery
I wonder how irrational gold is
when reduced to its primal essence
led through onyx and quartz
turquoise and amethyst
if you hold a rock to your head
does it speak in earth tongue

sine and cosine graphs
depict fluctuating vibration
but what of absolutes
in this consensual reality
mugwort produces flow
myrrh yields healing
sage is the end to a means
but only if added and divided correctly

            cast        cast        cast

     spell        spell        spell

all the signs are here:
math is flat without magic
magic is elusive without math
still-
   not everything can be quantified
a digit holds no weight
detached from the hand
and so it is with mind and spirit

at the core of the universe
is an inexhaustible energy
its change is a currency everywhere
learn to count worth without
value or numbers
learn to create art without
pupil or ear
measurement exists on an alternate plane

we do not know what
                                          we reach for
       yet it awaits us                                        beyond
                                                          ­                                 the visible
                                   within the potential
energy existed before touch
       kinetic art
                            ever in motion

candlelight is an extension of wick
                                                            ­  and inspiration
an  ( e  x  p  a  n  d  i  n  g     a  u  r  a )
        breaching the frames of darkness
we are just as greedy
   our hands
      our mouths
         our minds
                they all run toward our outermost limits

heaven only knows
what escapes our clutches
                                                arms
   ­                                                       branches
 ­                                  fingers
reaching into the azure sky

                              1000 petal lotus floating
                                           in metta

what’s a legacy to an ever-spinning web
    an apathetic world
               already on to the next meme
a laugh can last longer than
  an     entire     life’s     catalogue
impact buried under coded language
and refreshing trends

if a spider cared
it would wrap its prayers in silk
   before spewing its insides
the net is wider than floating words
        or hollow deeds
                                     **** your ego

we are only passing through
              dust     to     dust
in death we are nothing

the incentive for truth is self-fulfilling prophecy

we have been lied to in circles
and led to believe time is linear
but the end does not justify the means
circles have no end
                                   or beginning

before any axioms are presented
start with why
                           why ask the question that leads to the answer
                           why seek the answer that leads to more questions
the axiom is bliss
now dismantle the argument without lying
          to yourself                                                  to the future
                                       to your neighbor

why ask?                         -knowledge
why seek?                       -wisdom
why teach?                     -clarity for the cycloning circles
this means       before our end
the collective should know
                                     know- who, what, when, where, how
why?                                -for the sake of prophesying
                                           for the sake of manifesting

there is no timeline where stupidity
is a virtue
and we are past axioms
so ignorance is inexcusable

in the Salem Witch Trials
girls as young as 4 were murdered for fear
  of their magic
fear kills more dreams than ignorance or stupidity

the incentive for truth is self-fulfilling prophesy
so how dare we shatter the mirrors
and nail the windows shut

moist moist  moist  moist MoiSt mOisT moIsT MOIST
now stop reading it, say it
                                                           moist
it's a weird word
------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------

a storm is coming
  and I can smell it, feel it
     MOIST
on my skin- slick
it wisps into my mouth
  dirt patches aren't meant to be stoic

the storm approaches from the north, northwest
I am headed that way- north, northwest- approaching it
we have not yet converged but I can feel it
    moist
it tastes of dry dirt
not local
       nomadic

the clouds are foreshadowing --- foreboding
  parting only to show more grey
we have yet to converge but I can feel it
the grey
           the parting
                          the moistness
I am not yet there but I can feel it
  wisping through me
     I am not meant to be stoic
       nomadic

the first d
                r
              o
                 p

                     refreshing
I can feel it. really feel it.
moist on my skin. weird.
the clouds are parting
lightening [effect]       thunder [effect]       convergence [effect]
I am the storm; its core
  moist
            grey
                    parting
       ­                          wisping
can you feel me
                            approaching...

thoughts move on without me
old train, new platform
my backpack quivers in abandonment
     left with no back to support it
i keep forgetting the weight i carry

the chaos king has orderd his
                                                             ­                                                          steps
                                                           ­   with
                   sporadic
                                                        ­                          rights
                                ­                         and
innumerable
                                                 ­                                                    lefts

have you ever died holding your breath,
waiting for something that will never come?




me either
BUT I have killed dreams
in sacrifice for 'what ifs'
prolonged disbelief in suspense of some higher yearning

before I ever understood disappointment
apathy taught me to stop reading into things
to stop adding assumptions
like context clues were definitive
I remember waiting behind windows
for a father to open doors
never realizing that silence was the answer
knocking trust down a peg
I forced self to be level- neutral
to accept the apology money
  in lieu of time
     and keep it pushing
for the dad who cried love but couldn't show it
the best way to mitigate loss
was to stop believing
to leave the subtext on read
but turn off the receipts
   the emotional investment was too taxing

I remember expecting forever
  of moments I didn't truly appreciate
never realizing that NOW
is the time to value
leaving relationships on read
is actually a sure way to disaster
    wanting to be understood
    without listening to understand
clarity hides in plain sight
waiting to be sought
but effort is a cycle of reciprocation
anything less is oxymoronic
like demanding everything from nothing

And that's the crux
now I expect nothing from everything
     the only way is up
and I'm grateful
because I can breath so much easier
releasing to the knowing unknown
so even when I die I can say reality owes me nothing
because each breath
was a dream unexpected

at the intersection of
                                 nowhere and nothing
destiny bellows
  its call echoes through chambers
                           and gets caught in a keyhole

how can something so vast as the future
be unlocked by something as minute
                                                as the now

In the back right corner
three rooms removed from the main exhibit
idles a porcelain vessel
cracked shell of a masterpiece
   with just a bit more empty space

It sits in waiting
reminiscent of the admiration it once knew
eyes
tender eyes      familial eyes      devout eyes
it has not been touched in years
purpose- a centuries old secret
it finds companionship in the hum of dim lights
low vibrational
                           but at least present

hummmm hummmmm hummmmmm

hummmm      the only separation from silence
and unbeing
a murmur compared to its birthright
the shriek calls of native tongue
the connected boom of beating drum
the dust
              dust kicked up from feet   so   alive

This vessel once had a name
long since lost
to the progress of time
the dust that now showers it
is too clean
the eyes too critical
     or dead
feet shuffle by unmoved

Its belly has not been filled since _
and it is only in filling
  that emptying is made sacred
encased in rigid glass
in the far back right corner
three rooms removed from the main exhibit
yawns a porcelain vessel

And all its energy is calling for an exhale
it does not want
                             a clear glass barrier of defense
it wants for someone to reach out
and hold it
it wants for someone to remember its name
and shout it into the void
it wants to  s h    a  t t   e    r
                                               and release

the kitchen table is set
     is perpetually set
with glued on utensils and fine China
bowls poured into with empty calories
and                    emptier words
we are accustomed to paper plates
and one off exchanges
        to using things and
          throwing them away

B  B  B  C  A     D?
my answers are not guesses
but they are just as insecure
give me a multiple choice test
and I will eliminate all irrational possibilities
I have been taught that way

solving equations is a step-by-step process
nothing to get dyslexic about
cranium: mind as _ : spirit
how do you answer when choices aren't presented
logic and reasoning
will determine your percentile

I learned that pawns
if tactical enough, cunning and resilient
can become anything they want
except a king
I learned this under the stacks
at Benning Road library
much like the best kept secrets
it was hidden under pages and pages
of words

words, logic, never imagination
these were the rubric for marks
B's  B's  B's  never C's or lower
but I was always told
letters were my pass out the hood
then my pawn was picked from concrete
and propagated on private property
on manicured lawns behind high fences
my tongue was trained in Latin and Greek
by bishops who had all the right angles
my ebonics colonized and cultured

but pawns are not just limited to one square
I learned this from the triangulation of a plane
how there are other kingdoms
with alternate rooks
if you choose you can be a knight
their movements are practically unpredictable
take 'L's and jump squares

C  D  D  B  A
my answers are all guesses now
yet uncertainty feels secure
multiple choice tests look like a gam
of connect the dots
and I make artwork of standards
compare me to                            no one
contrast: intuition tells me I am
outside the realm of possible
an 8x8 grid: globe as _ : freedom
I write in curves
sign language that is more metaphor
than literal
I heard in a forest recently
that a pawn can be a king
if it resigns to the rigidity of rules

I do not know this alchemy just yet
but I am still learning

starlit domes have never been so down to earth
wishful dreams
     so close to home
fresh sight gives life meaning anew
     but with new perspective
         comes new appreciation

cradled in the roots of chromosomes
I branch out to new wombs
in hopes of escaping old wounds,
finding refuge in distant planets

that's why when I lift my head
I always imagine the sky a bit closer

then I awake to realize
I should really learn to dream with eyes open

I awake to realize
maybe I shouldn't take comfort in dying every night

I awake to realize
planets are so removed, I should just create my own

Hell---
     if Pluto ain't a planet---
          I can decide these things

Amidst all the cycles there is a center
  Yet concern over curves
   Around and about
    Within and without
Distorts the focus

What of a North Star without a magnet
What of a life without a purpose

Fractions mean division
   what's the opposite?

Step 1-  add
Step 2-  add
Step 3-  add  add  add some more
what if doing undoes the fracturing
keep moving and
the next corner may reveal what you need
when's the best time to process
before          after          during
maybe even hindsight is incomplete
retain each strand, piece, portion
for the final settling

They looked at the canvas
and called it a masterpiece
yet it's still 3 degrees of separation
from perfect
how thick is the line between self- realization
and self- actualization
blend with an eraser
and no one will know the difference
12 corners ago I made a wrong turn
and it spiraled into a depression
staircase optical illusion that
demanded I keep turning until
edges rounded
and made circles

Process: keep moving and the next corner may
reveal what you need

The opposite of division is repeated addition
add
add
  add until it multiplies
until the fraction is whole

Whole- looks like evenly dispersed division

I break spines with ease
Finger pages
Lick lifeless words to ******

   Promiscuous bibliophile
I sleep with a band of books
Every night
Caressing words between sheets
Discovering perspective
In the margins
Reading is so sensual

My dreams are an **** of imagery
Subconscious hodgepodge of
Fiction     History     Poetry   &   Prose
Last night I dreamt of…





                                            Well I forgot
                   But I do remember the feeling
   Of flying
                       Between this and that

Pro
Random
Organized
Vindication,
Intuition led
Divinely rewarded,
Enter thresholds graciously,
Not timely but always on time,
Care and covering in purest form
Esoteric benevolence abounds

the inner sanctum is a tea shop
surrounded by rainbow rivers
dewdrop magenta
meets turquoise in a whirlpool
and there in that triangle
salmon stop swimming
how long can you stay current
before a rapid takes you

the pour rains from on high
slow and sloppy
the whole world is a mess
  if we tell it
       the raven squawks
       but no one listens
       the kettle calls the *** black
       but there is no witness

as a golden pyramid splits in half
what new shape is this
when the spirit bows to flesh
and the mind spirals out of control
   there are countless leaks
   in the crack(ed) ***
cumulus streaks evaporate out
as a dragon
-wooden and rustic
emerges from the mist

flying sage
forefather of mystic
the words have steeped too long
settled into a bland blend
     when you pour out
     can you taste the difference

queer things deserve to be happy too

    tangentially

earth has swallowed me again
existence is so intimate
especially under the physical
i feel love in its many forms
a waterless stream flowing
      through me
                                   around me
soil is mother and sister
           brother and father
community consumes
                      like a hug
              also
        like a burial
in resting
                i almost heard my name
                  was almost quiet enough
                                       still enough
                                       present enough

oh   to be infinite           and            self-contained

i question the hierarchy of numbers
the triviality of zero
i have regressed to home base          again
does comfort know I have expanded
  ego is a shed skin
  recycled with fallen leaves
  before i die
                      make compost of me
let my love nourish
                                  that which isn’t yet
queer things deserve to be happy too

    tangentially

i am gay with life
death lurks
an imminent transition
i have zero to offer it
the trees are still counting up

there's an election everyday
and you choose
     you choose
between contrary thoughts
and you win or lose
be it economy or health care
you can be on welfare
living offa food stamps
exploiting the help there's
like 12 million ways to live my man
choose one
that boy is suicidal dreaming of a shotgun
that girl is suicidal dreaming of a casket
I'm done counting sheep
my dreams is passed that

woke up in Brooklyn
still looking for Wonderland
skipping down the roads of Oz
chasing after Peter Pan
ingesting that fairy dust
climbing up the rabbit hole
nostalgia my drug of choice
I OD on the days of old

now slow it down for the days of new
I'm taking baby steps
scoping out a change of view
I'm a philanthropist
all I want is change for you
so keep the money for yourself
it's too much ado

I was born to weigh heavy on your mind
my umbilical was lyrical live feed
inception was the spark
I been latent for too long
cruisin like Noah's ark
but I never chucked the deuces
just been patiently waiting to find my muses
next generation wake up
I heard they raised the stakes up
you feel the pressure
benchmarks been set
barometers there to measure
your progress
ingress
degression
can you feel it
expectations by the pound
you're drowning but is it real yet
concealed tech
he's got death at his hands
the sad part
lil' homie don't even understand
that a bullet's finality
teen homicide has become a normality
I'm on this verse tryna defy a mentality
I hope you heard
tryna defy a mentality

open palms release
rivers of clenched fists

face them upward

the sky rains down more than you need
   alms for wounds
   levity for burdens

The future is today

Millennials think in centuries
when decades pass in a blink

A year gives 31,536,000 seconds to wait
but not a single minute to waste

Time is money they say
and what millennial
                       doesn’t want to
                                               be a millionaire