T’ree A.M.

It t’ree a.m. High I&I rakkle and roll, swing an’ sway, irie feelins t’ru de day. Night-a call, me sess a-blow, rakkle me brain now don’ cha know. It t’ree a.m., me reggae flow, bounce ‘pon de train an’ mek we go. T’ru dem tunnel, out de side, down we block, so me can hide….

Handful of Blues

Monday Night is blues Night so I wrote you a song that go something like dis. I was born with the blues in my hand. I thought it was a flesh axe, but it was a silent guitar that only played one note. If you’d been there, I’d have sung it for you, but I…

Sing a Song of Fake Likes

Sing a song of bloggers a pocket full of likes four and twenty photos most are of bikes they don’t know you don’t read politely like you back so your imaginary friends can lick along your crack Why the hell do you care? Why the fakery? Click like on all the unread poems or foodies’…

iDon’t

i wonder if you’d mind if i traded a thousand of your likes for a single smile. would it offend you, could i be unfriended for my antisocially friendly request? i wonder if you’d hear me over the tip-tapping sound your phone makes as you abbreviate our interactions. i reckon not, you see, because though…

Ferguson, NO MO

I can hear the shouting, though it’s vague and difficult to discern over the clamor of the newsie, verbal paparazzi providing us 24×7 coverage of “We don’t really give a shit, but they never did find that fucking Malaysian plane.” Beneath the civil unrest, there’s bubbling turmoil. “We’ve been here before” and Missouri trees bear…

Him a Shotta

Him a shotta livin life on him edge. Girl by de side, she wait for him light fe break. “Why fe you a romeo?” she say, but him naw respond ‘cau him a shotta, and him too hard fe speak. But she naw sceered a him. His frown mek her wet down dere in her…

sun

your servants await close your eyes against the glare of your transgressions

los dos

the heart whispers promises the mind will never keep mine whispers you all day alone in our empty house feels remarkably like when you’re near silence suits us as does your absence

Leave

I hate to see you go, girl, but damn I love to watch you leave taking with you the better bits of me and thus I sat, remote in hand and a marathon of meaningless mediocrity minding me from across the first-floor prison. It was empty in bed without you, baby, and I couldn’t stand…

what do you write?

what do you write when there are no more words? when lyrical syllables float out of reach like fluffy dust in a summer storm or they tickle and tease, like your cousin did that summer of your fourteenth year. you remember her–budding breasts and full lips and you, too young to know forbidden fruit but…