we both tired and bored
then i’d ask where she was born
somewhere she said
but im not really sure
i want to tell you
she smoked then got up
to get a frozen tamale
from a dirty plate
in the moldy microwave
guilt and sin falling
from her face
like bombed out plaster
he joined the conversation
when she and i silenced
midwifing her and me into
a new set of unasked and unanswered questions
we all three sat there smoking
drinking diet cokes sniffing the air
she rasped i need another drag
today they’ll bury the 7
and hell has now imploded
silence in his scream
the noise in between
rage and shame
dissipated away in the fog
there will be no match
in a durge to the bravado
of your life you way your death
today they will not bury
rage pain hate sting fate
helplessness is not charity
dignity is gambled away
your darkness washed away
clearing the way for come what may
larger than life
you taunted the death
which inevitably takes all of us
no more yells pounding beats fueled by broken ideals
with heart in hand
and blunt inhaled
triumphant in your world
yet crying on the dark side
of the moon
hoy enterrarán al 7
y el infierno ahora ha implosionado
silencio en su grito
el ruido en el medio
rabia y vergüenza
disipado en la niebla
no habrá partido
en un duro a la bravuconería
de tu vida tu camino tu muerte
hoy no enterrarán
rabia dolor odio picadura destino
impotencia no es caridad
la dignidad se juega
tu oscuridad se lavó
despejando el camino para lo que pase
mas largo que la vida
te burlaste de la muerte
que inevitablemente nos lleva a todos
no más gritos golpeando ritmos impulsados por ideales rotos.
con el corazón en la mano
y contundentemente inhalado
triunfante en tu mundo
aún llorando en el lado oscuro
de la luna
the faint line of cheeks
his giggle drifts through the screen
cartoons at mom’s house
it’s the poor fabrics we’ve worn all of our lives that have roughen our skin she said with a menthol sigh
her sister runs her ankles swollen with years of defeat and three lost sons one buried in the ground and two alive within a legal sepulchre
what the doctor say about the sugar in your blood and did Titi pay the light bill on time because the worker’s coming on Friday
a fly lands on her fractured hand and she shoots it away with her thirty five dollar salon acrylic thumb nail the charms and doodads were free
I’m suppose to cook dinner for Brother Murphy and his wife for the wake of his momma Lord rest her in peace I heard she left him some land in Tennessee
carefully following the mailman with her dark brown eyes she hopes to get a letter from her daughter telling her she’s won the fight against the slumlord in Selma
you know if we put our checks together we can buy Kayla that puppy she wants but how do we hide it from HACLA
the sweat on her brow she’s lied about playing it off as the vapors gets harder to hide under her cornrows as the tumor begins to rise
you should take some B vitamins for your aches and pains by the way Dwayne called at 8 talking about he wants his money by tomorrow
the African Violet out on her patio turns to look at her as she fill a cracked styrofoam cup with cool water from the sink takes a silent sip and quenches the soil of the thirsty velvety faces
Belinda said i need to book transport to the breath doctor on account i got the lung disease
her voice an angry lament
Belinda said they brung me the oxygen tank then put that shit in my house so i can breathe but they don’t show me how to use it
throat raspy like secondhand pea coat wool
Belinda said she’s mad and she’s gonna call her counselor to take care of me
long polished nails the hue of dried nosebleed red pluck at her Obama phone screen and my phone beeps
Belinda remembered you is my counselor you bitch
when you died four days went by
until the living souls found you
grimace on your face and in the spirit comfort
you are gone sometimes awake at dawn i wonder where you are up in the skyline of the last picture i took
on our first train trip together
poetic in your cries for help you were
you’d cuss us out scream in ignorant hatred
then you’d say “you want a porkchop”
when soul one called it took 3 minutes
i thanked her she thanked me
we hung up wrote your final moments
as an incident report
no more angry calls or wasted lies
no more interrogations with misty eyes
about why the demons at your door don’t show themselves for me
i do remember our trip to Mickey Ds
you wanted cheeseburgers and OJ
we got our order and took our seats
while your eyes fled off in wonder
i did not know it then although sometimes i knew
that the more i pushed you to live
the deeper you fell into the belief
that your troubles would be over
after you visited the other side of that skyline in November
all he wants is mother
cool hair dark shades
crip color representative
who can never go back
eyes black soul pale
little child lost
on his neck and throat
over his hands and arms
details of alternative
birth certificate needled
in prison ink
the grimace a schizophrenic pull
dear boy who smiles for me
and cheeks contort
to hide the tears
of anger and pain
a story unraveled
stoic forehead tense
deep in thought
is he young
hunted for profit
of ego not
money or safety
we talk of
Daniel in den
lions retreat bites
the Lord spoke
now a smile
of some hope
rarely did i see
waves of forgiveness cleanse me
i feel my rest now
RIP MR the world can’t hurt you no more…
words less spoken 