Sunday, November 30, 2014

Phenomenal Woman (After Maya Angelou)

All the fellas wonder where her secret lies.
She’s not a damsel in distress or a floozy in disguise. 
But when I start to tell them, 
They swear I’m spewing lies. 
I say, 
It’s the flip of her hair, 
The bat of her eyes, 
The jazz in her laugh, 
The gift of her thighs. 
She’s a woman 
Phenomenal woman 
Is she.

She catwalks into a room 
like a lioness in the wild.
The women study her gait 
while the men’s jaws-drop when she smiles.
They gather around blocking out 
her shine like a posse of rumbling clouds.  
I say, 
Its the oomph in her hips, 
And the peace of her mind, 
The bounce of her breast, 
And the faith in her spine. 
She’s a woman 
Phenomenal woman 
Is she. 

Men hate to admit it, 
but she steal’s their hearts with ease. 
A simple good morning text 
Or a friendly kiss on the cheek. 
A strong woman can make the 
Toughest cutthroats weak in the knees. 
I say, 
It’s the poet in her fingers, 
The world in her palms, 
The mother in her hugs, 
The wisdom in her calm. 
She’s a woman 
Phenomenal woman 
Is she.   

Now you understand 
Just why her heads not down. 
She doesn’t smut or flaunt her butt 
Or live to make men proud.
When you see her on the street, 
It ought to make you bow. 
I say,
It’s in the sway of her arms, 
The poise of her chin, 
The tour of her curves, 
The taste of her wind. 
’Cause she’s a woman
Phenomenal woman

Is she.

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Cigarette Break

I’m ah fuckin’ 1AM walk alone in a snowstorm;
ah moment of silence in ah monastery full of mute monks…

…when the world sounds like one pompous crescendo of fuck yous;
one cemetery of ghost playing the quiet game.

Just snow squishing beneath the sole of my timberland boots,
ah memory bank full of reality checks, and darkness—
ah whole fuckin’ black sky of darkness seeping into
the open wounds too often mistaken for my eyes.

This is home.

Midnight body bags the saint inside of me
and brings out the criminal like ah sheriff.

The unknown excites me.
Their fear makes me feel alive again.
I wonder how many times a day she pretends.

Life can be so fuckin’ selfish sometimes.

When I come back I promise I’ll be ah martyr or something,
but right now I just need to get the fuck out of dodge…

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Blue Devils with Black Hearts (Kensington Ave)

Imagine seeing the same
dope fiends EVERY morning.

Nodding off underneath the same railroad bridge
like a corpse covered in tombstone.
Begging for change on the same infamous
drug corners spewing the same sob stories
like preschool teachers.

(…Her eyes were two glass crystal balls
lodged in her face scrying hopeless.
She needed two quarters. I wish I could
have given her hope instead…)

Wearing the same tramp
stamps like medals of honor.
The same prostitutes that
were once daddy’s little girl.

Now they open their legs
like paychecks; like
virginity grows on trees.

Life for them is a tightrope
bowline tied on two dead-ends…

Monday, November 3, 2014

Building Sand Castles For Mermaids

A Woman’s heart is 90% ocean.

The 90% that remains unexplored.
The 90% thats just remains of relation-
SHIPwrecks littering ocean floors.

After tripping down memory lane enough
She starts sweeping the pieces underneath
tidal waves of secrets. Then waves
goodbye to love like one-night stands.

The blueness makes blue our favorite color.

We yearn to skinny-dip into an ocean of Her.
To let Her emotions run deep into the lifeguard
of our arms.

The 10% is what we can’t take our eyes off…

What our hands vogue shadow puppets of at night…
What foxily creeps into our sweet dreams when
we’re sound asleep…that is until we fuck the
angel out of Her.

But don’t worry Love…
I promise somewhere there’s an
island with your name written all over it.

Saturday, November 1, 2014