December 29th

~ Crunch ~ Leave a comment

I sold myself today.
Came up shot of a reasonable price.
Decent,
yet and still
it.
Fire and fury
for a stem offering.
Hot shot- a fleeting moment.
Steel horses escaping violently down my throat.
Degradation. Wet inviting.

What is price?
Value or worth?
Flesh worth.
What is flesh worth on an open market?
What is price worth?
Self worth. Commodity. Fetish.

This submission to longing
has kept my hands from grabbing
an M16, a bottle of whiskey, and
obliterating every life including my own.

This submission
is the reason I am dying twice as fast as my brothers.
Be it by the bullet or spoiled seed.

I belong to a select few.
Those left dancing red
in the avenue lights
on crushed cans.
on exposed hope. . .

I will always be there
behind smiles,
behind heads,
in the corner of family photos-
performing my duties in silence.
Begging acknowledgment or death.
Begging some reprieve from the monotony of sorrow.

note worthy

~ Crunch ~ Leave a comment

success

in mortal hands

is material.

opulent.

opulence is material.

accomplishment- is a burning ambition

made real through calloused hands.

work.

becoming.

the trembling clay of creation.

given dance.

open.

given breath.

released.

given chance genesis.

the measure of a man

is inches. . .

miles. . .

pride. . .

legacy. . .

in success

we create measure.

must create it in self

or do nothing.

soft boy #2

~ Crunch ~ Leave a comment

wake up. brush teeth.
gut tight. urge here.

hurt knee. soft boy.
new hurt. harm done.

lay down. dream love.
gut tight. can’t sleep.

urge here. new john.
teeth pressed. one falls.

no time. missed call.
missed meal. tug sex.

health check. day dream.
check in. more pills.

day three. sleep now.
slow start. dry skin.

long bath. more food.
call mom. work now.

time spent. dimes made.
harsh speak. clock out.

soft boy. stomach tight.
urge here. skin dry.

lakeside. dried tears.
new poem. old pain.

old pain. walk town.
home now. rest boy.

phone call. urge here.
choose now. he speaks.

lay down. move on.
wish peace. brown child.

wake up. work again.
push through. long day.

long day. eat meal.
eat meal. eat meal.

heal up. warm hands.
wax dry. wick lit.

place fruit. be still.
breathe deep. breathe out.

love speaks. from self.
shape self. know love.

Ceremonies

~ Crunch ~ Leave a comment

up to the forearm
immersed in thoughts of becoming salt.
seed-
a river to ford.
bridges to foreign territories
are built through half verses.
past thoughts.
and the remains of all things considered.

We give our ambitions to the sea
should they find arousal.
should their infant formings find legs.
should moon cast light
and rise tide
transforming powerlessness into hope.

Black Girls Have Lesser Search Parties.

~ Crunch ~ Leave a comment

Some lights are extinguished without
the very human dignity of breath.
The flicker small with hopes of one day becoming important and disappear quietly.

They go into the night air.
If there were screams they must’ve
surely been drowned out by
their contemporaries.
Left waving in silence at the abyss.

The magnitude of notoriety
is only given to particular flesh
in this world.
Notoriety, which through wealth, makes their glow something of worth.
Which, through media, makes them memorable.
Which, through the very structure of violence, makes their hurt real.

Some lights wait in corridors for acknowledgement-
laboring intently to be seen.

Wick lit.
Wax wet.
Stain dry.
Wanting.

Never realizing the strength of their own warmth.

Practical Concern (For Thomas Duncan)

~ Crunch ~ Leave a comment

No one wants to die that way.
Caught between the notions of practical concern and real terror.

His body was an experiment, fertile.
Made ripe through melanin.
His body was carted over every middle passage,
over every needle thermometer- red.

The continent has lost a great many to this crisis.
And the few valid voices are given
to missionaries turned martyr.
The modern day saint is a pale faced news short.
An Oklahoma native,
cherry cheeked,
destined for darker lands.

Lucifer is epidemic.
Black cancer.
Flu scare.

And our bones have become less visible
Our bones have become less visible
Our bones have become less visible.