pocket size (before)
i enjoy the scent of raw sunsets that litter your mouth…
the scent of images you birth in my thighs; they affect
my walk and I prance lightly…
yesterday…
i bathed myself in sunshine and whispering winds of
how it felt lusting after ur shadow…dead-set on
having you be my life-force.
***************
'untitled II' (after)
i have
planted trees within
my soul…
the accompaniment
of ancient drums
bloom in my aural.
there are faint
sounds of
bitterness walking
along ashy sea-
coasts where
once friendly waters
now lung at me
in hatred.
what was the reason for
me yielding my
i.d. for 30 pieces of silver…
smirkin Judas’s
grope me in
the dark…hands
like sultry disgust, rip
the last bit
of dignity from
my being.
i arise at half past grief
and groan when
my womb aborts many childlike
midnights that
mock me in their
placental juices…when
my eyes embrace images
of freedomic frees that
range from conservative to
extreme.
the
trees planted in
my soul have deferred
from positions of up for
positions of scraping
the grounds…like
old 1920 negro mammies bowed to
the floor beneath the weight
of prejudice.
i will jovially mock me…
i will jovially mock…
i will repeat the
cycle…i
wonder when the
cycle will
release
me?
©2008/AgAbus