May 2013
6 posts
all women are purple flowers there’s nothing true about my wanting to meet with u for somewhere nice for lunch, the story goes, though i’ve asked u to, the way ur mind thinks, u’ve opened to me. so what is it? perhaps it’s the thought of sex, not an explicit need for, but the demands this society makes to me, the pressure of having to sex as long as i’m...
a male poet (a northeastern bird) a poet’s pride? there’s nothing nice about a poet’s pride. after he’s said his song and she doesn’t want him to take her home this time. of multiple times. the poet knows there’s meaning to cries so he crows which he shows off denounces ‘woman: this final time’ and this until he writes, her?, another...
it’s tiring in the beginning there’s always this poem inside of my mind, it feels as if happens each and every time i want to write a poem, something like then wanting to speak up of but i don’t know what of so i, each time, begin to write something like these birds outside or these trees i see, and end up writing within the poem she (she; she: to me ..). for some...
a clock: ticks after his aids left the man in disgrace, they all came over to meet sometime in the afternoon imagine, well the aids remain, on a hospital bed left to dead, i don’t mean to rhyme this poem, he dials the number to order a pizza for 8, for him, self. - a
a northeastern town; after most bees and wasps have been cleared huddled inside of grass pastoral and green-ly nice I see outside a car, driving, the one thing I fear as a human me some sort of animal twice my walking pace who’s definition of fate is attack first before an animal’s fate and so I smile and we drive by nice green pastoral grass. the radio plays me a stupid song I...
thomas f dixon jr, an american romantic
to hate a person,
enough to write a novel of
those who killed for
nothing less then to
contemplate
their selves on
top of
other women and men,
and a man of cloth at that
a minister, purveyor of holy facts
thomas f. dixon jr! Sir!
I beg of me to respect at least some of u for u’ve
existed enough to deserve at least
a
god bless his...
a, nice, small, wild, plant
a wild stem less plant
for miss nice white belted pants,
so that I
can
pretend I’ve
been to france somewhat,
before, I’ve
got no other choice but to
compete in life, so
I’ve
worn the shoes that I feel u’ll like and a baseball hat.
a wild plant, I’ve picked, a yellow one, walking, inside of a hand used to not
doing much about...
a finished version of a modern woman
she feels the urge to
to which I concur to
would u?
for someone’s meat and some fries from some paper bag or
a
bag of chips as a side of a big, person’s, dinner meal
a culmination
after so much dedication
dedications
which came from an
aesthetic emancipation if u will
(a picture shown) from around this!.
a premonition
now he’s...
a metaphor for / a present past
the
wife of a serious man,
woman to a husband u’ve found for ur self
and u’re wearing red shoes
u wear,
ur hands help u stand, ur hands on ur
counter top
I stand outside right near painted wood of a small round kiosk
I’m scared, afraid somewhat
as cars do drive around me, here
I stand outside and I do look inside
at a picture...
April 2013
23 posts
histories we spoke of, or rather, we’d spoken of, what is love and, what means hate how it’s much easier to procreate then change our soon-to-be, the word is fate in some high brow places, so we i left her there because? because she had not decided on if she’d change or eventually just makes a child. she makes a child, eventually, as educated as she is, her...
a gratified male babe, i’ve got to continue on, i’d hate to not to, on this path, of this place (small things sometimes mean something big) i hate to bug u this early, this morning i’d hate to do this alone. - a
histories a love of her life, ‘i kiss and he back’ ‘before: i’d kiss and she’d act, as if we i’ve not’ ‘i’d kiss if he’d like’ ‘she’s great when alone’ ‘i’m some one’ they met on a couch in her house there: music on, good swoon music, upstairs, her music’s off, her...
Stories
- a
In a blue room with white cream walls, where not one element of the room happens to be baby blue, a man is sitting on a table near a window, to his right. He has yet to utter, not even say a word. He is drinking coffee. In a mug. He looks outside to, or through, the windows, at trees, flowers and a road, with cars, as he sits, and sometimes sips. From his white cup.
The end of...
mad / folly, engaged
since when is a
beautiful woman
a beautiful face
since
then
a beautiful woman
of a specific race
since before
american men
as if race exists
does it exist?
don’t I feel the
things she’s lived before
she lives
how she exists,
the choices she’s made, once she’s
around me enough ..
isn’t that it?
I guess,
but
these damn...
u?
I’ve
deep down, inside of the bowels of me
where I’m
not afraid of a me
where I’m content with me,
where I’m happy with me
where there’s a
need for an us
there’s a certain consciousness made for a person’s love for
a certain love
where I’ve been made conscious of me, deep down / I
wrote us a poem
or is it a song?
u’d find...
me?
eventually,
me,
I’ve
chosen to live inside of these lines, of this
place,
this square box of a small place / inside of lines
to live inside of it
to make me a comfortable enough home on it
to build a house inside of these strict lines
to hold no slaves inside of this small place
this
politically
romantic, purposed, place
a
romantic
enough
small
place,
/ space
as...
a ?’s response I’ve loved her he was: he, him. i sensed her he’s seen me .. i was numb to as i was .. something. before. i met her at school. his me. - a
the black male issue though, i have learned to live aloud, i haven’t learned to live alone, yet, i’ve learned to loud alone, for me there’s nothing done aloud there’s nothing wrong with alone, one speaks one listens to one meets the person he’s supposed to he’s supposed she is the other wishes for some man who will do the best he can to forget his...
a question, not a poem black, is the color of? to me, he became a black person the minute he himself accepted the fed to fact that he was black, it was worse food then, to be an oppressed self inside of a white mess of a moral? place imagines, regresses, forced into being not non being, he accepts fate? a moral fate, man accepts she also accepts sings the same church songs. ...
a very insignificant corner from a significant growlinn’ male / voice. it’s the felt complexity of a lovin soul! she’s .. jus’, when ur just, wrapped up in pre-co-lum-bian / nkrum-ahn / white chest sheets an engraved on gold stuff!, and u have got urself a big ‘self?’ question u’ve held for so long for so so, so long! and she’s the answer...
this is? this poem? is the loveliest, a brown frame, ? little, pretty, ‘prettiest ..’, foto of u, from: me. - a
rom me this poem’s? the perfect moment to’ve told u I’ve wished u a ‘happy evening’, as a note. this simple poem, from: me. - a
of mine a pocketbook, ?, full of or filled with numbers of mine numbers, all that remind me of whatever I was part of, then, before we meet. and, so I write them down think of them home, though I would never recite them aloud, out of respect for us both. this is a grateful person’s personal poem / of mine. a pocketbook full of poems. - a
‘me’ it’s a poem, of mine, for saying a loud to one’s self, I hear she reads alone, because she’s caught in life’s brown / mud, a new found consciousness. a christian church going person, she wishes for even more rain to come down onto whatever she’s feeling, since, despite the god awful true fact that ‘rain’ makes more of the...
in a few minutes in a few minutes, soon, the innocent / ‘neighborhood’ kids are coming to sing to us of these kids are coming to chant to us song they’ve learned from music sheets about birds and forests and life’s nice things me, too, I never stop to see, to breathe in the kids are coming to sing of to sing to us of our miserable lives, of our miseries. - a
a difference? I suppose I hand her my left hand and she her right, to hold hands. we then walk hand in hand. I suppose we feel same there’s no difference though a left in hers and a right in mine. I suppose a different same. - a
she and he I suppose she’s enamored as much as he I’m floored she’s called her best self up from some once for theories wardrobe place and I struggle to pull out mine from a paternal / lied to mind. as much as she has been. I suppose she’ll like to cover her face in things she’s bought as much as I will not. though I’ll have to answer not pose...
becoming? she and he, u once I choose to settle for looking at nice art on museum walls for fun and drinking wine from a glass and not some cabinet mug at home once I settle for some sort of home I’m sure I’ll see whatever is an after noon sun. or a, is it solemn?, moon / ur u. - a
I feel Ur hair’s grown some since we last spoke, this same place - a it is A what if, something to which we agree. a, What if death was life and what if life was death. According to the sayings that we duty fully said so long ago, from now, now?,ur now, according to past folks, we are alive because we are: alive. I live a life. And I see u alive. Despite .. (but, what’s there to complain about....
March 2013
47 posts
tv
: What do I believe?
I believe is some sort of for humans miracle that has yet to happen to me. I am conscious of me / of my, to me. I believe in self sacrifice I think, as much as I do in ethnology. I believe in the fact that I feel for the inner life of a few others, a recipe, if that is the word that English intends, for frustration, necessary frustration, given the cultural practices...
?
In the very beginning. In the very beginning, of this story, he touched his face because it’s cold, was, and he subsequently put his hands into his jacket pockets. Black and puffed, under a red liquor sign in queens, ny. In the beginning there was a man, one man, and subsequently a woman, which stands as the perfect metaphor for the person who is going to be purchasing a handle, bottle, of...
calvin coolidge? me? i’d like a plane or a bus, for business lunch. - a
calvin coolidge? i like the folks who ride the bus to business lunch in ironed suits / scream at no one sit just still being some one u feel is no fool. i like seeing business be / too. - a
me? i like the folks who read their news on faster trains then one feels on a plane to france to a business place who don’t sit and wait. i like the folks who plane to st. tropez that sounds nice. me? a bike. it’s okay / today. - a
congress person i like the way those people make me peanut butter toast i just can’t acccept the fact that i’d like to ask this heart-warming immigrant person- out, for a ice cream cone or a cup perhaps even seaweed butter on pig roast. ? : an’, y not? - a
congress person i’ve met this married woman that i like her chest i think it looks nice, is that the same god u folks trust i’d hate to feel bad. : well our constitution has its rules and u can do as u do but remember friends that do as if u’ll be dead soon. - a
congress person is it wrong to go around speaking to french to folks who don’t i’ve payed so much for rosetta stone i’d like to practice .. u know : well, how about if u take a trip over there i’m sure a carrier of ours would take u for a nice price. - a
congress person is it wrong to sing a song i like i ‘ve been through so much trouble as of yet i dunno how i’ll go in living life. should i decide or not? : it depends how low u sing .. / what song might i ask? - a
finding
love in the age of
the good in me?
the good in u ..
the good in us two.
, the good in us two.
- a
?
it .. ? / or I
?
begins
begin
again,
a
will,
to feel, an
instance
of some sort
if
there
was
ever;
could be /
a
word, instance, to associate 1’s hope to.
1’s
hope: for,
to
feel,
as if, or
is
renewed.
- a
so far
I sit and I watch
a film atop
a bed / I
nod
a man from far
women also.
our love? it grows
for a better world
including woman and girls.
a man from far
has made a film I
like so far; so far.
- a
going fishing, going home
from me
a poet .. ?
to a man-sonnet sony labou tansi.
sony labou tansi,
I’m coming to see u,
sony
one of these days.
once / the minutes after I get paid.
on ur congo river
or is it the zaire river these laughable days?
or else, who cares
it’s fine by me
sony labou tansi.
now that u’ve died of
natural disease.
I’ll scream ur...
settling a bunch of fascist pigs is what this is a bunch of fascist thugs confessing love for some thing and, u’d think no that being them means feeling none no one. without fear, a bunch of stride she a fascist pig jus’ laughs aroun’. she’s a fascist thug. - a
it’s unsettling a bunch of fascist pigs is what this is a bunch of fascist thugs confessing love for some thing and, u’d think no that being them means feeling none no one. without fear, a bunch of stride she a fascist pig jus’ laughs aroun’. a fascist thug/ hugs. - a
walk
each n’ every
single time
I step
into
this food place’s
long
ass line
some person
begs me
to,
a friend was here
some time ago
it isn’t nice
and
u’re
nothing like him
this isn’t nice
and u friend aren’t right
for me
u?
to do this
don’t do this to me
please
so, drop out ta
sight from
my life
and I stay in
with belief
that I mean
something.
u meet folks.
?.
we...
his: f eel- ings a c o un try u’re a, real / place to me. so far so far /, from here so far / from me so far / from ‘em, here and, yet /, I yet / I try to to , remind me, of me of u of me of ur me a: country’s is so big so not near and yet me. I then just : sleep. sleep. - a
his: f eel- ings a c o un try u’re a, real / place to me. so far so far /, from here so far / from me so far / from ‘em, here and, yet /, I yet / I try to to , remind me, of me of u of me of ur me a: country’s is so big so not near and yet me. I then just : sleep. - a
? when we’re on bedford ave, we, us, we roll around after we ‘cross-town we then drive up -town ?. an ‘en back down for now, and then we eat me n the niggas,: a feast ‘til this good sun comes down on me. the jacket’s hung up jeans folded, I sleep. sleep. - a
? when we’re on bedford ave, we, us, we roll around after we ‘cross-town we then drive up -town ?. an ‘en back down for now, and then we eat me n the niggas,: a feast ‘til this good sun comes down on me. the jacket’s hung up jeans folded, I sleep. - a
cou -cou!
cou-
cou!
he screams
from a: cou cou! tree
please,
lay down he writes
from a place he’s nice
it’s spring he sings
from the place to be
hisself
come down
he asks
the sun coming down on
she an’ he.
- a
