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?”
Tag Archives: poetry
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”
Refusing to Eat Polluted Pies
Fake praises fall on deaf ears. I submit to no dead sun or man or woman or upright snake or politician,sporting a power tie, and repressive beliefs. This dystopia smokes and changes. Traffic signals burn night, like tall djembes in a Black art gallery, in Ghent. In Ghent, I mis-behave. Jazz drips from fingertips. VersesContinue reading “Refusing to Eat Polluted Pies”
State of Mind: No Party Lines
A crooked smile stretches across a busy street. River Birch South yawns and pushes the day’s hungry button. Angry. Capitalism needs its pound of flesh and bone to feel whole. WHOLE. Greed Matters. Lives don’t. Ignore geno- cide, allow brutality to breathe and grow strong. Lethal. An idea worth its weight in tax dollars, wars,Continue reading “State of Mind: No Party Lines”
I Offer this Country Resistance
Studying Daylight. She ain’t been right in decades. Trying to outlast the metal jaws of this machine. This beast is a savage, flaunting patriotic colors, slogans, and catch phrases. In a different headspace, navigating hostile water. I walk a tight- rope, balancing goalsand hate and scars and fears. Numb the skin. Numb the skin. WatchContinue reading “I Offer this Country Resistance”
Suffocating Skin
Scrape knuckles againstfigurative concrete, looking for daylight, tucking earbuds into ears, listening to Fela Kuti. Traffic blurs. To be human is to walk along a tightrope. I levitate, hover above polluted frequencies. Above the fray is wherelesser gods like to find sanctuary. Cool, like jazzy rhythms vibrate beneath my steps. This path is heavy. TheContinue reading “Suffocating Skin”
No Filter Needed
No filter needed. Hostile smile tells the tale. This poem needs no introduction. Anarchy is written on its skin, as well as on liberated sky. Forget the constant panic in this dystopian nightmare with patriotic colors wrapped around eyes that refuse to see value (RESISTANCE), a value that contradicts the crumbs of rancid apple pies,Continue reading “No Filter Needed”
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