You see... My momma had these two lamps and when ever someone came over they always had a story to tell ... Whenever  you'd sit on our couch and find that perfect spot the one where you slightly nestled down shoulders up and feet tucked that's when you'd see . Now I heard my mother tell this story **** near a billion times but I think my parents forget I was there too... And even tho I don't remember much I remember ... So there's not always two sides to every story more like 4 in my case... My father had motioned his finger for me to come here and it was a bit odd Cuz just seconds ago he was packing his things and stacking **** at the door. He didn't say a word but I knew something was wrong by his blood shot eyes and the tears streaming down his face I had never seen my daddy cry so I couldn't help but be confused and do what I knew best, Cry.
My Daddy came home slightly drunk full of life and my momma stood in the kitchen cooking dinner this was nothing new I remember we use to watch married with children and to this day I can't find the courage to watch an episode. My mother **** near whispered as she asked my father Tim where have you been? My father made not a sound but before he could all I heard was "******* that white *****" still... not a sound and for the sake of our neighbors on 3684 sunswept park dr florrisant Missouri 63033 I prayed he'd answer... Not a sound... He sat there as if no one was in the house just him and his thoughts thinking over his day he slowly closed his eyes almost like he began to pray... Before I knew it there where these black beads fly across our living room and I could have sworn I heard opera singers singing as those graceful black beads danced there way to our couch on our lamps and on the right side of my daddy **** near giving him 3rd degree burns...
Now I don't remember nothing after that and I don't know if that was before or after he broke her jaw but I know the next day my daddy had motioned his finger for me to come here and it was a bit odd Cuz just seconds ago he was packing his things and stacking **** at the door. I never understood why my mother never cleaned those lamps I guess she kept them as a reminder. To never be weak, to understand and know your worth, to never be foolish, never to be blind sided, never to be caught off guard,girl you have to know your strength it's not to much a ***** ****** is gonna get past me... Yes I check phones emails twitters facebooks and instagrams so the next time you wanna call me a crazy ***** cheat on me call me sad and simple Plz remember I come from a long line of strong  black woman with good aim who can make a mean *** *** of black eye peas that will gracefully dance there way to our couch on our lamps and on the right side of your body potentially giving you 3rd degree burns

The saddest day, it was yesterday.
Smoky sullen pushy congested lightless sky day.
Wrecked and weathered, gluey, obtuse and penned with
Melancholy and wanton desire. Wanting on and selling off

The Vampires and wretched thieves hibernating back in coach,
Seated in peacock-scoundrel dress. There's was the rudimentary
Yet pertinent foulness of childlike hatred, but they wore it under
Coarsely fitting suits to cover their hefty bags of ginormous fat.

Fatty ***** to scrutinize. Fatty ***** to wallow in the throes of
Dark fatty dementia.
Purses of alabaster filled with hemoglobin. Obfuscating zilch.
Scurvy on the arms, reptiles in their ears, and a million miles of
Stenchy, noisome, in glut. Wallowing, heavy and anti-professional.

Loff-less, un-catchy, unkempt, and in a clamor.
Boarish and obtrusive.
Gushy of anguish and the uncomfortable hide of rhino
Replaced for the swill excrement vetted porcine hocks of a
Kaleidoscope rich, aftermarket slug-pact for the bowels of
This century's egoes. Heavy on the cheeses, Cheetos, and Pathos.

In the hutch, a gaily brimming sunswept valley chimes
With the fruitful gaiety around the crowned Pantone TX1333 and Sienna heads that does keep. Homes are heavier, heaving the shrills.
Archaic muted cries of childhood, upsetted tummies serving at the Sighs of Lucifer. There are scoundrels here and in the underwear and in The water and under the water.

Frogs moo, chimney's weep, most other's Mother's have done true **** Jobs keeping their reared up to par with the others to avoid being Other'd. And our own language isn't being kept. It's undoing itself atop The bridges of mouths and the ridges of jawlines, and they have faded Swiftly, and no surrogate or custodial colloquialism has lived up to the Shadows and forethought of our greatest grandparents. And what has Your Jesus brought you except uncertainty, foul-play, and foul players And despondent and boarish chicas.

So now there you have this: brevity.
Another soft-tipped dactylic hand for undertaking.
By the end of days there will be the licking of butts,
Poor movies with Salma Hayek, and the lot of children's books
No children, not even these triplets will remember their fine names:

Tee, Bee, and Cee.
Crocus and sourdough lilies
Brimming over the nostril opera's of
These adopted gospels.
Only the ramparts of our literary apartheid and totally ******
Sexualness in kids and dults of all ages.

It started in the burning starlight




There was nothing in me. I was new and everything was naked.

Memories carry with them the heavy weight of another dimension.

Manipulate

He put the tape over her mouth. And I shouted mom's name. “mom”

My lips go dark. Silver and stuck. My face is small. Only one piece of tape for nose and mouth.

Manipulate

Every window bursts open and the anger creeps in.

Little  brown eyes go black. My body falls and the room siezes. Each frame of the shot vibrating, camera lens cracks and breaks.

My eyes are new, in a big brown body, with strong arms and fast feet.

MANIPULATE

fist for fist. Tape peeled back by revenge. And nothing sleeps right.




Somewhere else there are stars and you don't have to live




Could I be so naive...memories slipping through my fingers like pebbles. Through my tired, fading fingers.


Destroy

I feel breath. Whispers remind you that you cant be persuaded. Hands remind you that you can't fight back.

His lips making shapes in the dark, undoing buttons on child sized jeans.

Destroy

Overzealous heroes charge in and their fists build walls of bruises around would be abusers.

Maybe they save others...maybe overzealous heroes burn it all away.

DESTROY

And then no one gets hurt. Because nothing exists when it's ashes and bone.

But who am I if I believe memories can disappear…

If I refuse to accept the way they lurk in the shadows of my skull.

If I refuse to acknowledge them they grow.



Sunswept, copper sky. The moon sits waiting at the edge of the horizon



There he is. Big brown body like nothing id ever hoped.

Moving in and they can't see.

Repair

I feel comfort. Longing for that in my own skin.

I feel safe. Longing for that in my self.

Repair

Parents stinging child. Words biting the neck.

Poison lingering in veins. In memories.

REPAIR

But it's okay. He says he's been here before. Savior of the nightmares, i know him.

I sit in the backseat alone, waiting for the conversation to end. English to Spanish. My weight. I'm too big for someone so little.

He rubs my head and says it doesn't matter.

The hand is light and rough. Thick. Familiar and strange.

How could I become him...how could I be so incomplete.



It ended with the scorching moonlight

The shore, compelling from a distance, looks lush and green and warm.
From closer up not so inviting,
Remnant driftwood from a storm
Covers beaches, sea grass, shells,
And secrets kept she never tells,
Of all the travelers that have tried
To harbor there, and all that died,
And still more come and try each day,
Though some give up and sail away,
Some, persistent, wreck their ships
Windblown into coral, rips
Gashes in their hulls and heart -
Remains lie broken far apart.

The sunswept skies and gentle breezes push and pull the wispy clouds.
Yet darkness hovers
Ever closer; rapidly approaching shrouds
Soon will join with lightning, thunder
Mortal winds will blow asunder
Bow from stern and sail from mast,
Weary windblown sailors last
As long as able, choose to fight.
Can they endure till morning light?
When early hues of pink and teal
Dark night’s destruction then reveal.
Carnage strewn about the beach
Like dreams of many; out of reach.
PwL 3/26/15