Skip to main content


Showing posts from August, 2009


his lies
a corrupt venom
struck from the tongue
softened by smooth baritone
an echo of memories
hiccuped from the static
of the cellular phone.

his dishonesty
the metastatic cancer
growth in experience
shadowed by false embraces
cologne filled air
suffocating the denial
within candlelit places.

his falsity
a mirrored image
reflected on complex facial expressions
body language deciphered
veins and tendons
stretched in smooth smiles
disturbs the life within her.

his lies

false imagery.

my truth



"Death Row"

you will be my death row meal.

an instant gratification of delectable
nouns adjectives verbs
with succulent stanza surprised
in aromatic annunciations chewed slowly.

time will be measured
in satiable alliterations wiped onto a
white cloth eating fork made of
thesaurus thick tragedies
birthed to allusion personifications.

pen to paper, the hourglass.
an immense pressure to immortalize
each sentence syntax. each word
the savory satisfaction solidified
as a millisecond in the sand.

you will be my death row meal.

the lingering ink an aromatic herb
sensualizing my nose, the crinkling
of paper a chewing of ancient scribes
tingling bittersweet aftertaste of
sonnets and love notes,
haiku and senryu.

yes. let. me. chew.

masticate while I procastinate and
flow misunderstood etymologies
tearful eyes while I apologize
to the inner bibliophile
I will rather diminish if I cannot
finish the utterance of Giovanni
sweetness of Teasdale
rhythm of Hughes.

you, my death row meal-
slowly, I shall chew.

swallow inner beauty dance…

"No Middle Name Maze"

(from start to finish)

Met him on a sunny day
Don’t remember which
but the cold was outside. The season
for change/ change was he
Near winter months before
“You don’t know my name” was in heavy rotation
He was sweet temptation through slant eyes
and light flirtation
I wanted him then.
Complemented me on juicy lips
had a wondering eye for the swing of my
hips in my tight-ass jeans that I wear for
just the right occasion
Didn’t know he was who he was
But it was a sweet celebration
Didn’t know when or where passion would
lead us- wrote him a poem/ “bittersweet”
Does he still know where that is?
But back to the subject at hand
Or should I say the subject of connection
Sweet hellos/ he says he misses me (already)
and I am his dream girl of sweet affection
Yet he says this smooth… mellow
As he exhales his cigarette
Looks at me with deep gaze
Even in drunken state- that man is fine
damn fine/ puts comfort in lonely eyes
Shared dreams and inspiration
Tear drops on roof-tops and intellectual conversation

Could I be- is the…

"I Don't Like That Chick."

I don't like that chick.

She the type
swing ass and hips
as a sign of melted caramel wishes
topped with ebony thickness.

its not the hate, the type of hell
where women do not wish each other well
and i am the type to uplift and appreciate
-listen up: this simply ain't about hate.

i simply...don't like that chick.

she the type
to giggle at your man's corny jokes
when shit ain't funny.
posing when cameras aren't flicking
and blows through others stack of money
never opinionated-loves to go with the flow
because opposition from a man
is the ultimate pet peeve, from this she knows
from a long lineage of women as single parents
she being the ultimate third generation
all she knows is lies and forbidden touches
and no honest penetration.
she moves with a pack
much uglier than she
because she wants to look good
for the betterment of a man to see.


i don't like that chick.

she the type that takes any dick
to deep throat smack it up
welcomes penetration in three holes
for nails and hair don…

Type in Search Query Here