Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Look, a White!

I say black. Dualism. White uncomfortable. I can’t account for that. Light is pale. It is enlightenment. It is a celestial body. Dark is arising from or showing evil traits. It is lacking knowledge or culture. It is not known or explored because of remoteness. It is not fair in complexion. Fair is free of obstacles.

“Language that feels hurtful is intended to exploit all the ways that you are present.”
Look! Who wrote this dictionary and named the animals. Who made the zoo.

Look! Who places. And who is placed— behind bars.
Look at who has had their place removed.
I’ve been lobotomized.

Name. Tag. You’re it!

You’re crazy. Stop writing about this.
I can’t, my love. I’m a mule.
Nobody wants to talk about it.

Am I from Africa or the islands?
Why can’t I sleep?

I say whiteness. I say systemic. I say stop. I say so repeatedly. Stop! I say. But I’m carried off anyway. I say STOP. I say colonialism. I say negation. I say no! I do not consent!

Afterwards, I Beat myself with a stick.” Internalized sharp. I feel.
“I don’t exist.” You look. I swallow. Your gaze whole.
You don’t really see me.
But I stare back.

I say, look! There’s one!


(Claudia Rankine) Citizen, page 49 for the first quote for definitions of light, dark and fair
(Bhanu Kapil) Schizophrene, pages 28, 32 for the last two quotes
(Zora Neale Hurston) “The black woman is the mule of the world.” “I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.”

Monday, January 19, 2015


I have a condition
I’m carrying the before
I’m a day spent rocking
I’m hanging due
I see a face reflected in a mirror but
I only recognize mySelf by the black lines on My pale palm

lonely and sparse

I’m intense and fleeting
You are happy
We are driven by intuition
between the poles
suburbia split Me up into these Persons
spit Me up into the loop of refresh so

We are looking out of My eyes in the mirror
I look at You and
You look at Me We
are looking into and out of each other

Our net is flung out
interweb in the breeze
charlotte’s institution
We look down alleys
and We see pink nail beds and big lips
And We write ourSelves with teeth that glow in the dark
Proving that

You shouldn’t worry
the body is matter
my black matter is a stone

We don’t worry about the future
Our web is flung far out
Our eyes see black
see back and mine onyx

I’m making

Sunday, November 16, 2014


I am a bulb
Slid from the body
Numb with ease
Hedonist headlong

Unshackled from my me
I am writing
I am black and blue so
I am writing so that
I will survive pointlessness

Smiling and bowing
Grimacing and ecstatic
Bent over beside the electric sun’s
Cocaine white light
In a moment
I’m lying
Thinking about the
Lake and hopelessly full

Monday, November 10, 2014

Hanging Rock

I am going to open your mouth in a second. Open it at the throat, finger on the apple. Don't hang on. And dive. These bodies are our guns. Your tender heart so reckless in the heat. Waking when asleep.

If we see carefully we can taste everything breathing. Swallow hot stars put on our tongues and then we are speaking. Savory snare – the blue morning at four and you say the three to me. Your stomach is warm.

And my chest is luminous. The golden hour glow is rolling over our little bodies swaying on the side of the void. Gasp and stare back at me. Grasp and come down with me. I can’t lose you in this dark.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014


we go to tell you about the pinprick of an asylum dream
we love others
over difficult

thus we hate ourselves
and choke
hand over the womb
contracted gasping

we are chimneys
we will get on empty and alien
soot incurable
inhale inhale inhale
below influence
out out out
and above it
the exit is this way

we are one person one day and many people the next
we daughters will always disappoint
will eat your hypocrite
for beating us into dehydrated silence but

soon we become mute

Saturday, October 4, 2014


bare Walls that nothing but five letters will stick to
heartbeat clatters
mouth on a rhythmic inhale
Soul of the bare body pinches free
slides away
don’t You yelp

little sleepy eyes peeping through black Shutters
discovered Her dead but somehow
can’t find the body parts
under words penned down to pin Her in
the baby Room is just thumbtacks little dots of red and strange lines
She used to know Her way around the tight curls of this fine House

Skeleton slips at right angles over
this Spirit Who is rearranging Her ribs for Sunday dinner
two of them missing
weepy at the dumb in-between

a stateless place on the inside                      
aches nameless
scares Her that She reaches out
in a frenetic familiar way
without remembering why
and the One looking out whispers bitter
We will get on empty
don’t search for the soft spot
don’t You dare call out

Friday, September 26, 2014


Mean makes the poem lurch.
Jerks on.
Blunt and light.
Only eyelashes at the start of poetics.
Hoof in the mouth.

Poem holds both bare hands.
Having picked a crop when the sun was edgeless, your noun cut.
Truth to a point on the wobbling sphere.

Poem splits legs sits on lie.
Round-about repentant.
Taste buds all smoke and sweet cake.

Heart in verb travels.
This word blueberry vibes tender.