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I like the lady horses best,
how they make it all look easy,
like running 40 miles per hour
is as fun as taking a nap, or grass.
I like their lady horse swagger,
You used to be so
and now you’re all
like, you’ve transformed
I don’t know how to describe
you don’t like canasta anymore
you text IN ALL CAPS
my friends, my sweet barbarians,
there is that hunger which is not for food —
but an eye at the navel turns the appetite
’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow;
In every which way, I am living
for potential. I’ve mined cadmium
enough to roulette with Death
and Mars, bloodshot brute,
is swollen in my honour.
My function is action —
to pummel through concrete
it’s rank it cranks you up
crash you’re fracked you suck
shucks you’re wack you be
all you cracked up to be
dead on arrival
overdosed on whatever
excess of hate and love
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which…
My Black heroes don’t drop names like Fendi Gucchi Prada
My Black sheroes rock afros like Angela Davis and Assata
But my sheroes are more than a trend and they’re bigger than a hairstyle
Gotta love us brown girls, munching on fat, swinging blue hips,
decked out in shells and splashes, Lawdie, bringing them woo hips.
As the jukebox teases, watch my sistas throat the heartbreak,
But I do come to Trillium. To the Cardiac
Short Stay Unit where you’ve been sent for the second stent,
where free sanitizer prevents the spread of panic.
(a twelve-tone poem)
trite yap show
rosy twit heap
A thousand martyrs I have made,
All sacrific’d to my desire;
A thousand beauties have betray’d,
It is never easy
Walking with an invisible border
Separating my left and right foot
Wheat daughter, prisoner of sneaky pigweed, mother
to the five corners of the world and your three hectares,
beak-nosed carpenter’s wife and the potter’s lover,
Random Link Clicker.
Royal Bath Taker.
Receiver of Foot Rubs and Praise.
For Hetti Corea, 8 years old
‘The Sinhalese are beyond a doubt one of the least musical
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
In the onion, there’s
something of fire. That fire known as
Fog. The onion is the way
Sometimes a voice — have you heard this? —
wants not to be voice any longer, wants something
whispering between the words, some
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
His Grace! impossible! what dead!
Of old age too, and in his bed!
And could that mighty warrior fall?
Not marble nor the gilded monuments
Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
I am the people — the mob — the crowd — the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world’s food and clothes.
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and…
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,
The labor of an age in pilèd stones,
Or that his hallowed relics should be hid
What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
We deemed the secret lost, the spirit gone,
Which spake in Greek simplicity of thought,
And in the forms of gods and heroes wrought
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
When I was fair and young, then favor graced me.
Of many was I sought their mistress for to be.
But I did scorn them all and answered them therefore:
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow,
Though thou be black as night
And she made all of light,
No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere
I see Heaven’s glories shine
Love in Fantastic Triumph sat,
Whilst Bleeding Hearts around him flowed,
For whom Fresh pains he did Create,