Thursday, October 12, 2017

ball street jailout volume three

it was sort of cute
run away from the world
i got nowhere to go

i appreciate white people
they attune me to "the reality"
i resent reality or
i have a paid subscription
thus my perspective is invalid

black people still have to
prove they are worth a damn

i forgive every white girl
i have ever fucked

i assured you i was worth a shit
i convinced you that the president's father
was a CIA asset in the nineteen seventies
i did not expect you to believe me

i shout in my sleep
never in my dreams
everything is so dangerous

i threw a rock at a little boy
on his bike because he was going
too fast

strange things grown men
call transgressions

Sunday, December 4, 2011

super k

"leave the
radio on

this car is not
a democracy"

the thump
of my belly

hustlers round
the corner

who look but
never listen

the color
of money

"there should be
a western union
in every ghetto"

Monday, November 28, 2011


Stillborn, wake warm
To the smell
Of fetid water

Pineal putty
Pumped, primed
Ripe, ready
Fester free

Wild cuckoo!
Howl long
Linger heavy

The strophes that
Mark your pulse


head nod
sophists that
insist to exist
sincerity that gives
me the creeps

considerate, deliberate
I am
all of this

a warm penetration
warning shot
who forgets
to feed himself

sour meat
gone bad in
the goo of
her womb

I was never meant
to last this long

lock down

trapdoor slum lord
and the interloper
who makes dollars
after hours

perfect strangers

Friday, July 23, 2010

Situation Normal; All Fucked Up

a future that foretold me
to fuck off and die
i am in a fix

of the comfort
mothers best provide
verily, a lone lady
whose womb, this undoing

of moments which
amend, confuse
that lay me adrift
against these times