She Doesn’t Call

She said this

But did that

She bit me

I bit back

Where are you?

She’s not close

She loves me.

Well,

She said so.

To Her

 Somewhere there’s a house. There’s a door to walk through. Inside this house there are walls. On these walls hang pictures of a family known. There’s more in this house. There’s a kitchen with cabinets fully stocked: pans, pots, food- oh yes- food. There’s a table too. The fridge is modern. There’s an app for the stove? Yes ma’am. Oh snap! A dishwasher. There’s more. This house has rooms. Four to be exact. In each room there’s a bed. And they’re all so comfortable! Ooo these rooms smell nice. They do, they do. Bathrooms in this house there are. Enough to go around. Books. Books. Books and more books. This house is a library. Vices? Just a little. There’s a clip on the porch. Little whisky on the shelf. 

And lo, the house is now a home because within its walls reside you and I and a couple of little half-gremlins running around of our make. Can you see it? 

Love Up Above

Is a ball of water round

I bring some down

And splash it around 

Not too much, won’t drown

Love is a ball of water 

That follows us through town

Weather-Wise

  Weather-wise, it was a great day. Mid-January in California is late march in Tennessee. There I was, sitting on a stoop that did not belong to me smoking some grade-A that did. Four grams for $20. As far as street prices go, that’s insane. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact that weed is legal over here. But anyway, there I was, sitting, smoking, when this cat walks up. He looked at me and I him. In that moment our individual appraisals brought forth a mutual animosity towards one another that was at once palpable and oppressive. From the way he gazed I could deduce nothing but thoughts of ill intent. I watched him and he me. After half a minute of this sizing-up he decided to move along. I was content.

   Ten minutes later a white sedan creeps past. Instinctively I make my personalized cigarillo less visible. The lady inside seems as if she’s looking for a pet. Out the window I see a hand shaking a can of catnip. She’s calling out to a ‘Mittins’ to ‘come back home’. The sedan passes from view. Not a minute later I see the cat from before, moving in the same direction as the sedan. I hope he missed his ride.

We Tried. Really.

     We wish we were in it till the death of us. We wish we had something to die for. 

We pretend like we're in it till the death of us. We pretend we have something to die for. 

Because you my nigga. Because I'm yours. Because the music tells us so. 

I'm not pussy because I'd fight for you. You not pussy because you'd die for me. 

But what does that mean if I can't prove myself? What does it mean if your hood ain't a hood at all?

I know we both ten toes down but when have we ever had to put down all ten toes?

We say "Fuck 12!" but when has 12 fucked us really?

I want to die for my niggas, or at least kill for my niggas.

What does it mean to be a nigga in suburbia?

Nothing at all. C'mon. Let's go rob some shit. 

or pretend to anyway.  

Bonafide Sweetener

    What is this place anyway? When I think about it I see you at the table across from me. We’re not thinking of what to say but we’re talking still. There’s no topic of conversation yet we talk all the same. I see the light shining through the window on your eyes and am lost in the green and brown. Lovely, that’s the word for it. Before the coffee gets cold, Margret, our waitress, fills our mugs again. She’s earned her tip. 

Where’s this place anyway? It need not be anywhere but here and now. Why talk of the future when we’re here? Why think of the time when we wouldn’t be together? This is what they mean when they speak of forever. I know it now. 

Miles stretch between us but I see your smile nevertheless. I take my coffee black. Maybe black’s too bitter for you. Need a little sugar? I’ll sprinkle it in. She brought the creamer too. It’s all for you. I’ll drink mine as is. Down to the bitter dregs. You’re sweet enough for me. Pure honey. 

Where They Breathe

    We lived our lives on paper before we knew what any of it meant. We lived easy, simple. There was time for everything. Thats all we had was time. Conversations were light and easygoing. Heated arguments happened rarely. Everyone was cordial with one another. Then He came to town. 

No one knew His name or simply did not speak it. Some chose to call Him a god. Others called Him a demon. Either way, everyone knew what He was about. He preached to us. He preached to us a world higher than or own. He preached to us the words ‘paper’ and ‘life’. He introduced to us the phrase ‘dimensional’. He told us the lives we lived were merely drawings, copies of real life in the ‘third dimension’. That our bodies, buildings, landscapes were nothing but lines on paper. 

He told us of the other world, the world of mass and volume. The world where people breathed. He told of water that was wet, of heat that made you sweat. He told of places that were so cold you’d shiver all over, of heavy clothes you’d have to wear to protect against this bitter cold. He told us of tastes and smells. He told us of light, of love. 

There was a lot He told us. He preached every day. A crowd would gather. Not everyone would go. He turned away no one. People would ask questions. Some would try to argue. Most would listen attentively, drinking in the words spoken by this One who seemed to know all. There were those who would stay after the crowd dispersed to speak with Him directly. They came to Him with their doubts, their praises. He spoke with them all. He turned away no one. 

Not long after He came to town He informed us of His impending departure. He invited those who were willing to leave behind what they knew to follow Him. When asked where He was headed He’d reply thus: “From whence I came.”