Peace


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At each end it ran
slow, down his forehead
and blurred his vision

no matter if he be free
or whether his body
cringed in prison

It always remained,
Peace fully wrapped in his fate
for his soul to listen

like it had to be;
something transcribed
since before his existence

The Little Park


summer Bronx streets was the father to my style

smelly old sneakers, dirty wife beaters; I was the funky funky child

bathing my lips in hot water fountains and spreading my genius on top of skelzie boards

while nappy headed girls jump around in their jellies, double dutch’n with old telephone cords

We raced our energy away while the sun set below the curves of flickering street lights

pretending not hear our mother’s call until the last one light, for all us kids to take flight

They Left Me


I hate to be left alone
or left behind and left for dead

flapping around in my tears
while playing suicidal soundtracks in my head

wishing to be in another place
in another time; I’ll be holding my breath

living life with the kiss of death
between my lips like a cigarette

puffing years away while fluffing
wild stones in my mental grave

and how I see the spirits of those
like me, giggling bye in waves

gone for days, without a warm hand
or the politeness of a gesture

they left me; sulking in badness with all
of my downtrodden thoughts to age and fester


Raise Me Up


My heart jumped around
all out of favor, preparing
this to be my very last breath

with my toes in syncronize rhythm
pounding down the concrete beat,
praying this to be just a test

muttering out unapologetic words
in between breathes
and exhaling in the name of Jesus

just me and my spirits
blazing down blacktops hoping
He’d recognize my thoughts and see us

as he did when I birthed
and took the first one,
inhaling screams to claim my presence

and now I ask
that he take a second look
and raise me up, out of Adolescence

oneyeOpen


It is my favorite place,
for grand interpretation and self
relief to seep through

to go to war in shadow
with my inner self
and chaotic residue

Where the back of my back
forms a mold on every inch
of all four walls

a place for me to stay
when I refuse conviction,
to firmly hold up my arms, I tall

against my inner monsters
who wiggle their fingers
and howl in muted moans

advocating for a flea
to return to the unconscious,
my comatose home

Kids To Feed


Feed my children;
play my words
again, deeply
scratch and sniff

I must I must
I must stay above
the crumb scattered
counter tops, I insist

for their hungry eyes
and their joyful laughes
let me mat
down on my Pains

to make it home
again, so that I may
feed them life
even when it reigns

Sick Of Him


Holding his image high

like a superhero in disguise

or a shiny found penny

while on my way

 

I believe in him,

count on him; one day,

 birthday, father’s day

or maybe even just today

 

will he see me;

as I am

in my neglected pose

and undefined clothes

 

while hungry for love flies

buzzing in my eye

and his bitter cold

running heavy down my knows

Rubbed Over Love


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Even though; how I 
crippled him just the same
in a gradual stiff pain
rubbed over love
of an initiation
 
A crowned prince
owning dual citizenship of
First Born Love 
and an honorable subject
of the infamous Bastard nation
 
And he wore it well, flaunting 
father love wherever he went
until he matured and all
ready well overgrown
 
Until it overturned
from the best love;
to the worst pain
he’s ever known
 
Until he wishes 
and sends Karma
for me in order
to return the pitiful favor
 
Crowning himself
King of his pain;
even though Karma
may also soon visit him, later

Unannounced


It almost killed him, it did,
overflow way past the hard knot
in his throat, found himself hard to cope

with, his well concealed anger
blazing underneath
his thin fictitious coat

Repeatedly he held the flame
until his past, present and future singed
beyond recollection or recognition

deceased; smoky black charred
bones lay limped from
an unplanned emotional proposition