No open palms in this crooked land. Only clenched fists and iron-like ideas can survive in this social wilderness. I dig into this militant bag. Fela Kuti runs down anticolonial chants to awaken morning.A fresh brew wafts into spacious rooms–Kenyan blend. Huey P’s voice crawls into earbuds, like a follower of a congregation. D.C. experiences empowered mediocrity. The Oval Office got plans to take overContinue reading “Today’s Thoughts on Empire”
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Jazz Hangs on a Saturday
Avoiding noise,like vibes consumeskin. Constantly. Fixing flats onpolluted earth,patching up holes onliberated wings.Snatch up purpose andmemorize thecracks in culture. Jazz hangson flesh. JohnColtrane. Dexter Gordon. Mr. TheloniousMonk taps keys, altering moods. Rick laughs at an episode of Malcolm and Eddie, while Ryan unfolds a box of Kane’s fried chicken, hoping to uproot mystique, justify the snake-like backups onContinue reading “Jazz Hangs on a Saturday”
More Human Each Day
Cocoa scented skin wafts for moments–an epic simile–like my man Reggie, twirling a piece of raw chocolate from a Haitian cocoa tree. The years fly by. We grind. Buildto act, to protect,to love, to resist, to live, to leap overburdens, like we have surfed these metallic waves before. Liberated. Cageless. Roses forcing their ways throughContinue reading “More Human Each Day”
Poem Written After Watching an Episode of Goliath
California license plate on a yellow bug. “Baby, I got your money,” she says, misremembering the codename. “The name is Fernando Vasquez,” he says. A lawyer with a bloody nose and a poor disposition slides out of the trunk of a red 2018 Jeep Compass. Nothing to see here. Dead metaphors and dysfunction. More bullshitContinue reading “Poem Written After Watching an Episode of Goliath”
In June, A Little Boy Simmers
Tradition for What?
Too fast to wear a crown.Uneasy. Heavy is the head. STILL. Raised on a different frequency,moving skillfully with sharks, like Miles Davis swimming in sound. SOUND is a temple. The gamble crawls on skin, and I change lanes. Stuck in this blues, living with designed purpose. God’swill on flesh. Them levels be dangerous. Bones tellContinue reading “Tradition for What?”
Long Way Home
City streets snake and swerve toward ordinary oblivion. Not worried about the hate and the hostile stares. Or the pissed off old man in a dark pickup truck, trying to make a quick exit on Butts Station Road. Red faced and angry. I laugh. This is an ode to balancing life on an eyelash. ToContinue reading “Long Way Home”
A Hustle Beyond the Stars and Stripes
Beyond traffic. Beyond cracked lives. Beyondbluesy attitudes, polluted countries, and silly white genocides. Bones don’t move for plastic ideals, shifty rhetoric, and piggish ways to prove American vomit is a gold-plated crutch. Sunlight breathes new days. Moonlight counts dollar bills while the masses stumble for food, shelter, living wages. Tap-dancefor a machine? Why? Stick outContinue reading “A Hustle Beyond the Stars and Stripes”
Heavy is the Head Space
8 miles down a black road, hoping to smash before the crash.Hoping to bubble and ball before the sun comesup. Cool breeze gives me dap. Early morning deer escapeinto the last exhalationsof night. No one knows male head- space, like loose gravel and Angry Noise. Crisp air high steps for a few more hours, takingContinue reading “Heavy is the Head Space”
Never Attach Breaths to Conformity
Hang a left on Volvo Parkway. This Chesapeakething got blues in the veins,swag in the pockets. We craft vibes, weaving in andout of traffic patterns. GoBIG or go home. The route ispaved with good intentions,bones, and scattered goals. Don’t let your flesh touch the floor, they say. Keep your headon a swivel, document where theContinue reading “Never Attach Breaths to Conformity”
The Official Website of Synnika A. Lofton 