Juntos o Nunca

Viviremos juntos o moriremos separados. Only a fool allows himself to be separated from another based on a third party’s beliefs. Like stone walls, we stand through leaning on one another, absorbing each others’ weight as others absorb ours. Walls built from uniform stones require mortar to stand. Walls built of rock in disparate shape…

Days of Art # 53: The Smell of Brilliance

I cannot explain the taste of sour brilliance rotting in the sun like fruit the chartreuse color of the number six — but I can smell it when it ripens and I cannot teach you how to feel the bristles of magic against the nape of your existence or how pink smells against sweaty feet…

Days of Art – #51: Favorite Poet

I think all poets have favorite poets, and I’m no exception. What is different, perhaps, is that as my writing style changed, so did my poets. Gone are the Nikki Giovannis and Langston Hugheses from my favorite list, to be replaced by poets I’ve actually known. I’m fortunate to be in love with my favorite…

Days of Art #42: “We Wear the Mask

“We Wear the Mask” by Paul Laurence Dunbar We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,– This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world be overwise, In counting all our tears and…

Days of Art #39: I Cannot Dizzle upon Mah Toes

I cannot dizzle upon mah Toes by Emily Cold-Ass Dickinson and Gizzoogle.net I cannot dizzle upon mah Toes– No Man instructed mah crazy ass– But oftentimes, among mah mind, A Glee possesseth me, That had I Ballet knowledge– Would put itself abroad In Pirouette ta blanch a Troupe– Or lay a Prima, mad, And though…

A Whole Lotta Mo’

Originally posted on This Blog Intentionally Blank:
In honor of the Holiday Season, I am presenting my annual tribute to the real meaning of the holidays – the post-Christmas sales. Twas the Day After Christmas an’ all through the sto’ everybody was fighting for a whole lotta mo’ The stockings were tossed with the socks…

shattered

  what i’ve lost can’t be regained. words spilled out of their pages erased, never to be found again. the day grows longer, but your shadows dim “what if they ask me for proof of you?” i ask as they said they might. you have gone, and perhaps returned but as a spirit, a past…