Category Archives: Poetry

on freedom (7/4/16.sorrowland)

you can’t be but so free in a sorrowland   a place you were forced to used & discontinued discarded to find a way out of no way with obstacles piled higher than the mast of the good ship Jesus … Continue reading

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skywriter

sometimes you look at your feet you think where you done walked you remember the holes you fell in the times you were underwater before you learned to swim you forget you are walking that the dirt remembers you you … Continue reading

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the song of the horse eaters

singing in captivity is not a sign of happy slaves nor is dancing which may occur almost anywhere grace in the storm may be hard to understand may not always be seen as divinity holding hands with resilience what do … Continue reading

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The Question

can you keep your shoulder to the wheel knowing the harvest is not for you dressed in flesh you will reap in the grave the future you feed may never feed you the horse eaters land is gone the children … Continue reading

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Child of the Horse Eaters

  I am a horse eater I am dungeon seed my pantheon divided 6/10’s  on the other side of the water 4 generations walk after crossing the graveyard in the ocean exiting doors of no return I have not returned … Continue reading

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Hunger

  The Babalowo said: if your grandfather is a hustler the son will be a businessman the grandson will be a beggar. I am the hunger refusing to beg on the road I build roads to other places my hands … Continue reading

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12. 26. 15

red cloth tales & miracles abound I am on the bottom of the ocean walking the bones with Wilson we follow the 1024 a solemn pantheon grandparents great grand parents we walk where they walked how they walked great greats … Continue reading

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arrival

here because this is where i find myself carrying bags packed by dead people brimming with faint possibles twisted among rude impossibles bag on my shoulder song in my heart i have come to draw me on impossible tall singing … Continue reading

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Old Men

blue black creased by living gin on their breath underneath the weight of the crush of being born invisible 5 dollar cigars and knowing in their mouths long eyes pained by memory grown in the shadows of years stacked atop … Continue reading

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For my Mama

my mama had hands knock you into next Sunday get you right quick she knew what you thought before the thought formed we were instructed to think good thoughts she was intuitive to a point she wanted things she discerned … Continue reading

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