Friday, April 25, 2014


Across the divide he reminds
Is what they want of me.
Hair pressed into submission
One night stocking, du-rag at a time;
Laces undone
As if no knot was the ultimate rebellion.

The is what they want of me;
No curly-curl reminders about my face
How dare this nigger take such a relaxed unkempt approach
And have the cells to hold conversation
Equation to me!

Across the divide
I witness them in study.
The degree of understanding the negro,
I guess you would call it conundrum,
Engrosses their faces
Because despite the media's truths,
Despite law enforcement's truth,
Despite that hidden
We are so much more than the sum presented,
They still have not a clue as to what to make of
Here in these hills of opportunity and dreams
Long past their glimmer
Now rusted shackles waiting for the next soul
To wait to be sold.

I will never be the man across from me.
Will never long to be that of the now
Or as the old-timers said
'Fried, dyed, and laid to the side'
Of individuality
And a desire to remind myself of past paradises tumultuous
Yet teeming with a hope
Now relegated to rose-hued faded snapshots
Collecting dust on a mantle
And digital snippets of a Soul Train dance line
As we boogie-woogied into a future,
I would argue,
That was far bleaker than our past
Across the divide amongst
And within ourselves.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Face To Face

I came upon truth at the summit
Approached cautiously, because it has a way
Of hurting
Inflicting a pain one can never know if they are ready for
Or not.

There within the violet and saffron hues of a setting sun
Our palaver commenced;
I accepted some revelations with ease
While others caused anger to swell,
It is never easy to see one's reflection for the first time.

Truth laughed heartily,
Paused a moment,
Then withdrew a cigarette and lit it in the most deliberate fashion.
I likened it to a swell before the surge;
A destructive wave
Cast about from my tsunami of existence
Sent to wash over me
Drown me
Erode the very foundation of me
Till I am nothing but grains of moments
Hoping to coalesce on the shores of memory;

Truth paused,
Held that thought and watched me
Waited on me to break
Then exhaled through a set of gritted teeth.
Was it frustration?
I could not decipher through the ribbons of smoke now caressing it's orifice.

That single word speared me,
Harpooned my core and bled me of everything I thought I knew;
Thought I wanted to know.
And reaching for the nearest projectile
I realized there was nothing to grab but my own consciousness
Now hollow and weightless.

Try as I may
That single word escapes me
Teases me in shadow
Just as truth meant it I'm sure,
Has me searching the libraries of my world awake


Friday, April 18, 2014

Ocean Ave. Blue Note

Navy blue collar gave way
To baby blue collar high rise;
Joe the bum, always earning with a joke
Got killed in a stroller drive-by;
My grease spot's now gluten-free
And there's no pork to go on my rye
I'd tell 'em all to go to hell
If I thought it'd make it right.

If I thought it'd make it right,
I'd scream from my lungs,
Paint the streets with my rage
Dark crimson mentality
Trickle to stream
To flooding history
And therein lies the problem
This metamorphosis is
Constant as the minutes before
And those which are to be born
Of that exact need to survive
Which surrounds all we know to exist.

The feeding
Digestion is the synopsis of this and other places;
It just goes a little faster.
The metropolitan vessel churns
Lubricated by the change it's masses bring
Hurling themselves upon it's gears
In an attempt to belong to the current pace of things
Which tomorrow, shall be relegated only
To memory.

Monday, April 7, 2014

Beneath the Sunset

The day I die,
Just maybe my lungs will sound
Echo their frustration
Forever-ly intent on wrapping me up
In finality
An understanding of culmination
With the dregs of existence
Longing for nothing more
Than a chance to contemplate
Maybe then dictate my meaning
Upon closed eyes
Bowed head
Forced meaning of society...

Trash to treasure.
Mystery to resolution
Cold case to scorching instantaneous absolution
My epitaph to the clearing.

How much does it cost to breathe now?

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Like It Is

It was just the facts of life.
Adolescent conversations I'd wished I had
So that maybe now
I'd be a little less awkward
Better socially prepared
Not nearly as shocked
When I want to taste from the cornucopia
And my knuckles are rapt
Because well,
Society still doesn't want me.

It was just the facts of life
I repeated throughout the years;
You are a black male first
And that alone makes you an enemy of the state
And despite whatever monumental success you attain
Prepare for it all to be snatched away;
Society will take every opportunity to remind you of your place.

It was just the facts of life
They joked about.
Throwing stereotypes like javelins
Olympians longing for the gold
And unbeatable record of discord
Against the slap-happy notion
We can all get along if we try.

Differences stoke the fire
Abnormalities just the same
The mind is a temple easy to build
But to tear down, once fortified
Irrelevance the song
Echoing each time I hear them
Know where they came from
Where they are headed
Leaving me to weep
Because solutions,
Escape as easily as the wind from lungs it takes
To produce the pain of repetitive ignorance.