Thursday, January 31, 2008

All For One, One For Me

We look too cavalier.
This feather in my cap
Tells me that I'm one step away from
Challenging God Himself.
May He strike me dead before I
Find Him.

Yes, we're much too cavalier for
Our own good.
You're convinced that your shit
Smells like daisies. Yellow ones.
The Musketeers won't take us;
We can't even take us.

We are full of ourselves (and cavalier).
No honor, no loyalty, no chance.
I'm looking for a fight
You're bedding anything with garters.
The smugness we share makes for a
Good long hanging. . . if only that's all
We needed.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

What Did I Say?

I'm getting too hot down here,
says the cunt.
I'm getting a little stiff in this position,
says the cock.
what are you insinuating?
asks the cunt.
says the cock.
you know, you've got some balls talking to me like that,
says the cunt.
loosen up, sugar. Get wet,
says the cock.
shouts the cunt.
You've got no blues to speak of,
says the brand new harmonica in my hands.
Fuck you, i say.
and think about it.
This blues you speak of. . . has it rhythm?
cause i know i ain't got none of that.
Fuck you! is the harmonica's rebuttal.
you listen to "It's Britney, Bitch."
You've got no blues to speak of.
i can be your backdoor man all night
And you can blow me all day,
but in the end you'll be dissatisfied and I cum
Thinking about someone else.

And that, boys and girls, is the tale of the dormant harmonica.

Will our heroine find her way out of the burning car's trunk?
Will we soak our pants in anticipation?
Stay tuned to find out.


I'll suck the marrow from your ulna
I'll suck the capillaries from your eardrum
I'll suck the phalanges from your hands
I'll suck the wrinkles from between your toes
Fuck, I'm the kind of friend that will suck the salvation
From your soul. That's how much I care.
"Don't leave me this way,"
Was the sound that came out of my mother's car.
I didn't know she listened to disco, there's a lot I don't know about that woman.
"Only your good lovin' can set me free."
When she was my age, she wore what they called, "hot pants."
She sucks her teeth when she sees me in them. Says I'm too bottom heavy for them.
Everyone's a critic.

Don't leave me this way.
I'm going to try not to, but i've got things to do and other foxy mama's to find.
I'm not the "Brandy" she thinks i am. Nothing i've done suggests that i'm a waiter.
I wait for no one but her.
She wore a halter top. If she wasn't my mother and if i wasn't a blazing feminist,
I'd call her a slut.

"Don't leave me this way,"
Was the sound that come out of my mother's car.
I like some disco, only the kind that makes you forget your troubles. All of it.
"I can't exist, I'll surely miss your tender kiss."
She had this ass kicking afro that was two feet in diameter.
When I think I should have one, she rolls her eyes and asks me not to be too militant.
She's not that docile

Don't leave me this way,
I'm going to try not to, but i've got foxy mama's to do.
I'm not the kind of legacy she fears. Nothing i've done suggests that i'm reliable.
I've held out for no one but her.
She loved a man too much. If she wasn't my mother and if i wasn't her daughter,
I'd call her a fool.


Shake that banana skirt for the sophisticated men, Josi
And shake it fast.
The men and women of Paris have paid good money
To see you bring back the minstrel.
They've thrown in ample tip
To see that ample black ass.
You look lovely in your pencil brows and
Your kohl eye paint. Your powdered legs.
Your sparkled pasties. Your conquered pussy.
Little girls, now, aspire to be you, Ms. Baker; the
Charleston dancing jiggaboo-pickaninny.
We're embarrassed by you and we want a piece of you.
Shake that banana skirt, Josi.
And shake it fast.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Inborne Future

A dog told me not to take myself seriously one day.
It was wagging its tail and wearing a smoking jacket.
And as it took a squat in my neighbor's front yard,
I thought long and hard about what it told me.

If the moon makes me a loon, what does the sun
Make me?
I wanted to ask the sophisticated dog, but didn't.
It appeared to have important business to tend to.

I heard some funky Dixieland just the other day.
It told me to get to the back of the bus and drink
From another fountain.
I didn't concede, but I was damned close.

How is it, in this logos world we live in, that
I can be void of all color and be black?
I still like to get down.
Pretty mama, come and take me by the hand.

Some boy told me I was ugly today.
He held a Playboy and pointed at my tits.
Poor kid, I should have said for the both of us.
I said instead, "I must, I must, increase my bust."

Can I, with what I know now, thrust the tits I have
into the faces of glossy pictured naysayers?
I'd give that boy what's left on my chest to shut him up.
But he needs more than my help. I'm no professional.

My child of the future came to me last night
She told me that she felt inadequate.
"Well pilgrim," I said in my best John Wayne voice.
"I see what i can do on this side of the Rio Grande."

Will I get my shit together in time for a small
politically cloned person to come into the world?
My child of the future is faceless,
But I know you're serious, black, and woman.

Good luck to you.

Monday, January 28, 2008

Resolution D 'jour

I decided today, that i was going to watch more porn.
I feel that throughout the week,
I don't see enough breasts or enough penises.
I think I should have these images on hand.
That's the new decree of the day. More porn.
I don't need a sophisticated storyline
I don't need witty dialogue between characters.
I'd like just a milkman, pool boy, or a cable installer
Make a stop at the house of some horny house wife
Who only has sex on Wednesday. Hump Day.
So when she gets her cable installed
Pool cleaned
Or milk delivered. . .
I want to be right there, sitting on the sofa
Watching her mundane day unfold into the fabulous
sex romp, i know she deserves.
And that is why i've got to start watching more porn.


"Tonight, on the six o'clock news, an area girl is stuck in a giant black bowl sitting in front of the Stevenson Hall on the ISU campus. Is it a staged protest? Or vagrant misuse of art? Stay tuned to find out more on this chilling story."

Saturday, January 26, 2008


there is nothing more entertaining than watching couples fight
"you're not wearing that to the party," said a man in the mall to his girlfriend.
She turned cold and closed.
"You're not going to tell me what to wear."
He sulked
And i watched from the turtlenecks.
I remained quiet.
"You're going to look slutty."
"Shut up."
"my grandparents are going to be there."
"Shut the fuck up."
It seemed pretty bad when she dropped the "f-bomb."
The walked away.
I returned to the turtlenecks. Mock is back in fashion.

This is What love Looks like

When the sun rises and you turn your face towards it
When the dew under my toes relieves my ache
When the crows caw in the evening, under a dusky sky
When every passing dragonfly is just as enchanting as the last
When you smile after a long drink of lemonade
This is What love Looks like

Thursday, January 24, 2008

When We Make "The Love"

"I'm late," I told my past paramour Raul.
He sat on the couch of his Manhattan loft
scratching his toes against his calf.
"You late for what?" he asked lazily.
"I'm late," I repeated. "How do you Italians say,
'I've missed my period?'"
He looked up at me. His eyes had not registered the news.
"The period? The mestruazione? You lose it?"
I sighed. "That's right."
He took this in and thought for a moment.
He shrugged. I was exasperated.
"That last time we did it, you used a condom, right?
It didn't fall off, did it?" My voice began to climb.
"Yeah, yeah, I use the condom when we make the love."
My blood pressure was climbing too.
I walked around the couch to face him.
"Well, what are we going to do? What if I'm pregnant?"
"Repeat, per favore."
I searched for other words to describe such a condition.
I held my arms out in front of my belly,
gesturing extension
I grabbed the pillow from a nearby chair
and stuffed it under my shirt.
"With child!"
His face lit up. "Ah! incinta! Fantastico!"
Not Fantastic!
"I'm too young! You don't have a job!
We live in a loft! My parents will disown me!"
He frowned. "You speak very fast. Rallentare, per favore."
I knelt beside him imploring his good sense
under that beautiful veneer.
"Please listen to me, Raul. We. Are. In. Trouble."
"I love the children. I make a good father."
I gave up and just went to the corner market to buy
a pregnancy test.
Apparently, I was not pregnant. I just miscounted.
I apologized to Raul, my then paramour.
He smiled and replied, "Que Sera Sera."
Just like the song.
I began making plans on finding an English speaking lover.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

I get sick

When Im on the Pink-D.
I sit behind a man who wears what looks like an army flack jacket
With six earrings on the outer shell of his ear.
The flesh there is unlike the other ear. It's shiny and swollen.
I keep looking back to it. For it's a beacon that beckons me to
It's rocky shores. I get sick.
I look out the window and wonder what that ear is doing.
Looking like it needs a splash of disinfectant.
The rocking, the lulling, of the Pink-D unsettles my stomach
And I am lost at sea.
But that shining shell of an ear is the lighthouse tonight.
I'm going to look at it.
I'm going to throw up.
But's it's going to take me home.

Monday, January 14, 2008

no chance

a couple of mormon girls spotted me at the bus stop this morning
matching denim skirts and tightly pinned buns
I had no chance
I was waiting (listening to secular music) for the bus
"Are you interested in reading the book of Mormon?"
"In these confusing times, we need something to depend on."
Yes, we do. I keep one eye on them and another on an approaching bus.
"God loves you, and with the book of Mormon, you'll learn all about his love."
I want to be loved, but i've got to catch a bus. Can they hear my dirty, naughty, secular music?
"We have a pamphlet for you to read, it's very helpful."
I'm not interested, i don't want buns of denim skirts. i'm getting anxious.
"God loves you."
I need saving (right now). My eyes look like those of a rabbit's. Marvin Gaye is now singing about "gettin' it on." shit. Shit. SHIT.

Kindred Spirits

When you make the decision to sit next to someone else on the a bus stop bench, you're telling that bench mate that you're willing to take their cigarette smoke, their strange comments made on the weather, and the space they take up. You're asking to become their temporary friend. Their temporary Tonto for a Smith and Wesson adventure. When you take that seat, especially when others are available, you're their friend for ten to fifteen minutes. So, what should you and your new friend do? Nothing. There's no need. It's all assumed. With three feet separating you two, they know you're cool and their obviously okay with you. Sitting says it all.

Saturday, January 12, 2008


I'm living on an ineffective rape schedule
I hold my cell phone in my fist at night
on the streets
So I can hit some joker in the face
Should they start shit.
My rape schedule is full. I'm booked for the month coming up.

My Chariot Awaits

My bus driver is a slow driver not because he is cautious but because he likes to sight see. The jerks in his steering and hesitant take off is due to his rubber necking. He's looking in the mirror at the wreck behind him. He's looking at the motor home to the left of him. He's watching me behind his aviator shades. He's not driving. He's a tourist. I'm not his charge, I am his partner in the tour about town.