Coldly coiled, until petted, he bites like a viper. Then his venom slowly renders you submissively deceived.

measuring the wind

from north to south
from east to west

Blowing, Moving

intangible, but touches
invisible, but sees

Moving, Blowing

tasteless, but sweet
boundless, but fills

Blowing, Moving

weightless, but omni
immeasurable, but alpha

Moving, Blowing

from north to south
from east to west

Blowing, Moving

Clandestine Love

Life dividing like Pyramus and Thisbe
Ghosts randomly appearing
Their intangible perceptible presence
Their lingering aroma like incense
From sweet breath, their whispers in night air
But now no promises of an encounter
Just the shadow of you standing
Underneath the mulberry tree

A Word From Mom

Today you said I was beautiful
Words I've never heard before
Until now--when they came from you.

Sometimes getting it together requires spring cleaning. The cob webs had clouded so long until they became apart of the decor. Reality is hardest when realized. After the low blows of rejection, it is time to pick the heart up from off the floor and put it back into place. The hard part is wondering if it will beat the same way again after the wind has been knocked out of it. Hope is inflated, but when disappointed it burst like a balloon at a thirty-eighth birthday party. The maturation process is painful, but necessary if the days of sitting on the porch sipping lemonade are to come.

The Embrace

Past the skin you touched my soul
Awakened slumbered passions,
Unknown cravings
Even now my soul is still searching,
My flesh aches
Waitng for the return of your embrace

The pinnacle of the mountain is the fortieth step
The view is not as amusing as before
The ascension has given strength
Two more miles to the top

The imagination can run wild, untameable like the wind.
No lid strong or wide enough to confind it.
It has life, even more than you can imagine.

Tell me a truth
Even if it looks, sounds, feels, smells and taste like a lie
Tell me a lie, and make me believe it's a truth

the color gray

the printless tracks left in the sand might be a clue.
an indication of an overly exaggerated magic trick.
even the water evaporated from the glass,
it's molecular nature scattered

the volume that no longer works on the dial.
and the picture that has suddenly become distorted.
but not pretty like a water painting,
or even abstract.

like days forgotten with the evening sun.
and the nights that have been slept away,
while waiting for the color to change.

Ain't yo' maid, ain't yo' mammy!
Ain't yo' slave, ain't yo' cook!
Dem days is ovah!

Queens! Not whores or bitches.
Beauty beyond butts, breast and lips.
The soul of the nations.

Stop killing her! Adore her, esteem her.
Stop disgracing her with your words.
Disrespecting her with your images.

Polluted from the blood of her people.
Left in the fields to die.
Her and our un-swaddled future.

She seems lost now.
Who is she?
And who is she trying to be?
The images of her are not true.
The shades, shapes--she's more than the casing.
She once carried the future.
Now, the future painted for her is not so bright.
Her strength appears to be weakened.
Her lover has abandoned her and their young.
The wind once could not break her pace.
The rhythm of her own beat guided her direction.
She must reach back now to impart the spirit of her former self for her tomorrows.