I remember it being cold that night.

It was the first time I had walked away
and worried I was leaving something.

It wasn't the kind of cold that
cut
and made itself at home in your bones.

It wasn't even the kind of cold
That strained every breath to feel like your last.

But I could feel the wind biting at and hanging from my ears
while it whispered.

But my mind was moving too fast to make memories,
It seems to never have the time anymore.
But it saves pictures
like polaroids.

Fast flashes of things passed
like whiplashes and mass stashes
of three picture days
of everything
and you.

Flash:
Legs around mine, light jeans, fluorescent lighting.
My heartbeat heats at the thought of it.
My back feels numb.

Flash:
Your smile in my headband, *******'re beautiful.
I think you threw your head back and laughed.
My arm tingles where you touched it.

Flash:
The sky was slate. Your eyes were asking me their first question.
I wished I had chalk.
But you already knew the answer.

I try to tell you now what you already were then,
But there aren't enough words in the world to tell you.

To tell you that your eyes looked like lifesavers.

To tell you that if I could,
I would develop my dreams at the nearest hour
drop shop and lay each frame out
like a quilt
and a collage.

(Because my mind is full
of a kind of mess that is never less
than warming.)

I would tell you that I hold your words under my tongue
To make sure they're always delivered warm.

And that if I leave them in there long enough
the fire starts.
My words melt into mercury
like ice in boiling water.

And I tell myself,
That if anyone really knew the heat,
They would stay the hell out of the kitchen.

But I made you something.

A for Alcoholic
she mutters noiselessly
to her cherub feigning sleep
in his night mare infested crib.

B for Brute
which her Knight
morphs into every night
inflicting invisible
whiplashes on
her now rusted dreams


C for the curse
which befell on
their marital vows
the day he first touched
the stinking bottle


D for Death
she sreams to the silent night
which comes neither to her
nor HIM...

I) Eve

Eve became
Foolishly bold
To give up
Her faith in God.

Exhibiting lust
For a tantalizing apple
She opted to be
A dust;
Heeding a snake-
Incarnated
Devil’s word
“If you eat
The forbidden fruit
You will acquire
Wisdom on par with God.”

Duped by Satan
Unfaithful, disobedient
She turned a reason
For the lapse of man.

For lacking faith
She heard,
With jealousy
Her son Kane
****** Her son Abel
To death!
“Eve tarnished
The image
Of the womenfolk!”
We usually hear
In a religious talk!


II) Saint Mary

From Birth to death
Unwavering was
In God
Saint Mary’s faith.

In her youth,
Blind to earthly
Allurements,
When summoned
To serve God
Happy she drew forth
“Displaying alacrity
To the call of
The Almighty
Is my pleasure
My duty!”

Saint Mary knew
Miracles untold
Is capable to do God.

Acid tested like
Aglow set gold
Threatened by
Herod’s sword
Scorned by hypocrites
Hoary headed Christ killers
Her faith she never
Failed to tightly hold.

In Golgotha
The whiplashes all
Were scars on her soul!

Unlike many of us
It is not like a fiction
Or movie script
She witnessed
Christ’s crucifixion.

She reconciled
Man and God,
Till to date
And down the road
This miracle will be told.

She allowed a pride
Womenfolk could ride.

In the catalog of grace
As she won a higher place
In God’s face
Above angels and
Below God
Is the row
She was
Allowed to hold.

Like Saint Gabriel in the sky
Like Elizabeth on earth
Angels and human beings
Praise her why?
Doubt have not I
She is Holy
In a way description
That defy!

III) Devil

Duping Eve
The control on man
Devil got
Thanks to
Saint Mary ‘s obedience,
Before he realized  
The mystery of incarnation,
He lost.

For via
God- Saint Mary’s
Chemistry mankind
Is snatched from
Devil’s grip and fold.

To retaliate
To belittle
Saint Mary
Still a python
A snake,
A sanctimonious preacher,
A faithful
That has gone astray
Devil makes
A frantic bid to date.
In various religious forms
He seeks a vent
To disgorge
His hate.
Oblivious to
The ******'s word
“Generations will
Call me
The graceful, the immaculate…”

IV) God

Via Saint Mary
Once more
The Almighty God
Drew close
Mankind to his fold!

“For use and throw
God use Saints!”
Is the worst mistake
Believers  could make
Eating the poisonous cake
Devil in various
Religious forms bake.///

it's so unfair that my head whiplashes, my eyes
dart as if it's an archery event and you're the only
target i found was worth releasing the bow from
its arrow to and that my heart starts its musical
number of blue songs and wild rock at the mere
mention of your name and of anything that reminds
me of you--and it's so unfair because i could easily
forget names and appearances as if they're painted in the background but your name seems to be
wedged inside my mouth, i have to look away from
mirrors because everytime i smile i see it and you
appear everywhere--in books, in journal entries, in high school buildings, in my living room
floor, in convenient stores, in old forgotten 90s songs, in the streets with warm pavements, in boys
who reminds me of you whose identities are now
covered wih your favorite color until i could only
see blue--and it's so unfair because i think of you
on days I've promised I won't and I'm writing you
another poem when you can't even text back

i know my worth, you never saw mine
i know your worth, and i bled everytime
you cut me down with your gold edges
because unlike how my head would turn,
yours would look away and while my
eyes searches for you, yours could see
past through me and while my heart wails
for you to notice, yours remain steady-paced,
unaffected, unstirred

it's so unfair, so unfair.
Can you tell me when i can taste victory?

Scampering through the wilderness in the ashen lands of which were smog,
I stumbled and had startled till day's glistening embers burned out the fog,
With little practicality for a promised tomorrow,
Its fiery scars to shed nothing but sorrow -
And due to all of this unkempt malice,
It had embellished a flurry of flames from within its chalice.
And at once the world was a dark, cold place,
With nothing but a hollowed sun to meet face.
And within the facade of a formerly safe path,
Followed a new fume of earth's merciless wrath.
So, upon a mountain I came to stop,
Watching the scanty sun fade to a blue teardrop,
Before, at last, it had gone,
Retired from earth nearest the split of dawn.
And thus blue clouds had crusted the sky,
Winds chanting rain with agitated sigh -
Until alas offence was taken, and henceforth came their cry,
Lashing outwards onto human skin,
Frustration to ooze and bubble with sin.
Fog had began to smolder the air,
As my breaths drew short and started to flare,
Yet nothing could be done to reverse this end,
Not anyone left could ever seek to mend,
For the revelation, at once, had begun,
To challenge this world without the sun;
My eyes to glower above the horizon,
A-gasp the thick brown fog that had arisen,
And on forth I had started to flee,
As the tremors of thunder roused up their spree,
To end the beauty in which was betrayed,
With whiplashes of lightning, its purple serenade -
That, upon the slightest touch, human skin had flayed,
And buried them behind in the ashen memory,
Now expressed by remnants of fermented emery,
That baked the earth in a dusty brown,
For now this land was but a ghost town;
Forsaken a peace now left with bland,
To rot with dust and turn to sand,
No pleasure or mercy to reprimand.

It's a bit of laughter, that goes a long way to just you
If it comes as no surprise, it goes a long way if we, you're you
Looking for canvases of fruits, and tapedecks of Japan, dying pretty hard
My life's in misery, but, I don't what, does it fear to live?
My life's in inescapable fear, and I don't know what it means
Oh doctor, tell me why will my thy will open to the eye of sun and heaven and earth, red earth I'm bleeding out in these rags forlorn for the lost feeling
Hold my high hopes, in the kite running skies that leave my thoughts dry as long as the picture is finding innocence in your reasons, two simple reasons why this in spells of manic depression
Trapped in a young man, and old and dead that spurs madness
Doesn't the piano chime with the murderous hope in my skullduggerous soul, I don't deserve this madness
Dreaming up of skulls, suddenly realizing the death of thine light in my eyes very dubious, beyond false compare
He said I'd just write you free-prose poetry, but, I'm looking for another letter of the Hades Gate, who heard him leave
I'm blowing in the wind, but, I'm drowning in madhouses
Raging with innocence, innocuous and capricious caveats, and talk of the passion without immediate conscious experience
I'm a body without consciousness, and I hear you in the starry skies of your loveless dust ordered in the years of rag ***** and talk of artichokes artistic, chokes me to tears to see what we've become
In a generation of hysterical madness, and I saw the best minds in the yearly bestsellers written by droning bickering pretentiousness, looking for childhood, they found their flickering peace in their cooked up courage in the collated document of liverwurst and hog tails that promised the empty soul to offer its confusion in a soup of surly murmurs in this silent sky, what ideal do I love to choose, adding two and two?
I'm forgetting everyone when I realize I should have forgotten them a long time ago, in the centuries that repeated in the song
Dancing with repetition, in the mayday of restoring heaven
How about I tell you that I couldn't talk to my doctor?
'Cause **** was the disease
How about I tell you, that my house smells, wishing it could make love to stylish artists and teddy bears with adorable aromas, fragrances of time and my mother can't read me, I just read her I write about the battered suitcases wanna travel the swirling minds of childish about desultory blues on the Ray Charles blues in
Playing in the back of a phonograph, in the corsets and flowery eyes that spell danger if I pluck a star from their supernatural darkness in hand-churned ice cream sitting on a desolate understanding of the homes of the lost souls, and I talk of the ceramic ashcans that process the changed minds
That had understood the changes, in the wind wondering what hit them or in videos of gapes of bad mouth in stammering broken lips
Drama is the art of success, and thunderous claps and the noise wants me to cut my life into half measures, and half hollow men
Some of them now kids, we are the studied men with the ignorant looks searching for the light
Understanding that a child can accept the light, the real tragedy strikes when we realize that an adult is scared of us
Sovereign in slavery, talk of the broken lip in white pallor that cries tears of emotional tears of cottages that sail in Morocco in Tangiers
On the ***** streets of hunts, and jousting verbal catatonic piano brilliant hurt, balancing on the fire
That I can't see, and the fall feels cold as hell, and the terrapin stays in the recesses of the doves flying above them
Falling into the side of the dark moon, and the colored literature in the stammering men was a white, well that's how we had the grapevine in this haven
Lend it's heralding living, in the clothes exchanged for jazz, and talking about jazz like it is, for the black men forgiveness
White men are afraid of black men because of expression. And black men are afraid of white men because of the lack of oppression, or the means to tell it like it is with their white lies and white fears of the black man sitting on a bench with his hand in ice creams, it's freezing outside...

White men fear black men because of depression, dedicated to cause and effect
Ghostless towns of the crossbones soulless towns, and following the logic that makes common sense, to avoid the ghosts of their past in the ideas that need to be kept in the past
Maybe true love waits, but, it's not my barking neighborhood
And I hate women with attitudes, and dogs that don't latch the reciprocated greed in a bit of chalk and white flame, green platitude, because happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing
Where's her mom?
She's crying?
Where's her mother in the neighborhood suburbia?
Cashing in, and cashing out without her looks of financial fickle frenzy going into the cries of the howling crummy apartment, doesn't tell when the broken tears stop before they are complete
******* single torn child, an ultimatum for no limitations if your whiplashes the dashed chair, in the undulating tumescence of buildings in howling midnight in the secret garden
Sunflower you look toward the time, identikit caress these battered feelings in that we all know that ought to be found in the hearts that have lost them glow
We are lost in your glow monarchical, we are writing writhing souls looking for offensive erosion
And defensive simplicity in oil and water
In oil lamps burning midnight lamps inscribed in speakeasies, crowded in a quickie
Affixed I'm free to taste the reality of the hydrogen bomb, the best defense is the strongest offense

Children wonder.
So does a lot of people.
Especially, within the black church.

What's up with the hat?
The ones on certain first lady and women, in general, blocking the view of some worshippers.

The hat that gives you whiplashes just trying to peek/look around them.
And we talk about the blessed built lady in the tight dress.

When it's the hat attracting the most attention.

And some of these hats are peculiar and yes, sensational to see.
Maybe, churches need a segment role called the hat back seat.