One Drink

I came to myself
the boiling pot whistling
profane massacres
across the hall.

and I never made tea again
I watched the emptiness
of the sky
and this room the air could pass a thousand
birds through its spaces
for the many days the
living had left.

There must be empty
spaces inside the body
for a single drink that doesn’t scream—
I win
in spite of the world.

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What Doesn’t Change

Moving orients as well as disorients. It provides reacquaintance with what you’ve kept hidden in both a physical and metaphysical sense. The objects, these passions of the past, reminisce as settings, complex emotional frameworks.

I found today a reading response journal, a piece of my journey into understanding. Pages and pages of epiphany as I was coming into myself as a young college student and a naïve visionary. I look back on my words in mystery and sorrow. How much passion we lose as life plays games with our resilience.

I want to share a bit from this with thanks to my favorite professor of the past for bringing these insights to the forefront, for opening my world. You guided my journey, wishing, with regret, that I could have done more.

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Course: Introduction to African Colonialism
Reading Response Entry 6/16/1999
In Response to Violence, Exploitation and Racism in Africa

Out of all the entries this gave me the greatest pause as it provides relevance for what is happening present day in the United States. More importantly, the professor responds by asking of my responsibility to share my understanding almost as a premonition of what our present day responsibility will be. As a nation, our people are being manipulated to hate and to fear the innocent among us solely for the economic gain of those who could care less about our lives and what the average citizen will suffer as a result of their propaganda machine.

In moving, in movement, we travel with the same understandings and the same responsibilities to speak with our hearts. Reaching out from the mindfulness of 1999 to the people of 2016: reflect, share and act. I, like many, have not said enough.

The joy of doing nothing

dusk and dawn and
the pages in between
the perfect ambience
of a quiet day
I resolve to write you to sleep
wake these weary eyes
after the guilt
of clumsy fingers subsides
ah, what sensual guilt
to rest in indecision
the horizontal body
against the star-filled sky
I fear these eyes will not wake.
together. we may weigh more than the morning sun.

Colonizing Relationships

I loved not knowing you for those longs legs
of time, of distance in thought
pulled you out of an abstract ocean
for new tastes.

Commodity is a flower of comfort
you thought meant love
transcendence in the highlight of company.

I am the new age, the colonizer of body and ideas.
Translation is loud, thought is a catalyst to movement.

I continue to reproduce, reap from the gardens I find
pull bodies from the oceans we buried them in.

Graves are the honors we dig.

I came to you puzzling words. Translation is loud,
I expected you to find the pieces
of my body.

the passages of suffering are thundering in your eyes

until I become your speaker, your menacing clouds

we prostrate together side by side irrespective of Gods
claiming answers.
you prostrate to your world for all it knows of pain.
I hold the weight of my head.
I know what my people have done.

Under Water

Pieces. Fragments of emotion that pile together in this state.
Become red. Forget body, want blood.

When I am with those I know, I see ocean in the distance.
Forget understanding. Remember rational thought.

And what is rational is blue reflected in the sky, climbing the wall
and sea level becomes blurred. Flooding. Taking the horizon with it.

For it is fire in the belly making our heads melt.
Now even our children can’t find us near the surface to take our hands.

Human Allegiance

If I am given a life to write in divided breaths
let the country be a place for solitude
engagement be a place for growth
here we will reproduce, give birth to healthy
words, feast from the medleys of home
wake upon something else, other than life and its falsities.

my country, buried in allegiance
hiding from the cleanliness of rain
why wrap yourself in satisfaction
creating temples of time without hours to heal.

the orphan, many without a safe home in this barren world
unwrapped among our gifts borrowed for show
my children who have nothing of want
mouths of vanity before they even speak of need.

I pledge allegiance to fantasy, an unknown country
where the holidays are prayers and peace is beyond my borders
new friends I meet among those I don’t know,
they are just names being recognized in human form,
titles of new forgiveness in our unforgiving world.

Falling Angels

I time these minutes like something will be lost otherwise
the falling of the crimson leaves above my head,
the peculiar smirk of the sly squirrel perched on the corner of the fence.
I will marry the sun when it peeks one more time from behind the clouds
my temple of pure, unadulterated occurrences living outside of perpetual weeping.

These are only simple visions we can hope for in the coming days
those of natural life, still abiding by the order of things
unaware of the angels falling at the waist side
how many can we bring back to life.

It must be said again and again that hope can live on.
Will you marry the sun with me and sleep with the moon?
I have known many angels. I will not bury them under thoughtless men.