Passing You in the intimate hallways of airport terminals You look at me with venom in your eyes sinking the fangs of your consciousness into me as if I were a rodent to be consumed… I am a. proud. black. youth. striding past you as I wear the color of your skin Is it really … Continue reading The Compress
Where does one begin when they’ve yet to decide what constitutes a “beginning?” Is there a way to break free from the shackles of the inner critic? How does a writer decide what they write about? Is it possible to become great by writing from cold-starts? My father Bryan once told me that nothing is … Continue reading Written to You, Achronotic Locus
Fragmentary engagement, the pen bleeds as if the tongue were sliced open – Black ink droplets spattered upon a page of decolonial au jus, a patois created as the flight slips from the tarmac: the grip of the tires is required… but words don’t play by the same rules. “I wish this pen … Continue reading Airplane Shit-Talk Ain’t Really Shit Talk
What in the fuck is going on man Seriously I’m quite confounded Up and down and up and down, back n forth and again and again and again and again I swing my mind to and fro as I stumble into myself, words hang from me like trinkets I adorned myself like … Continue reading Ripped Open
where “fuck you” is synonymous with “fuck me,” when “you” is a reflection of the self and “me” is lost, rarely seen or mentioned – being too informal or perhaps not fashionable enough. So “me” is used when necessary and never indulgently, (we do enough of that as it is) – indulgence, … Continue reading What Strange Times We Live In
And so the raven peers perched atop my head into my perception, bores with its beak a bolt– hole through my eyes and the hands descend fanning out behind my skull, each enladen with an eye in the palm and it all fell into place when I traversed the hallway of consciousness, looking … Continue reading I Lurk Late, Futon Dreams
the people sit in circles eating small meals while recounting what came before when they open their mouths they speak as if they’ve got “it” all figured out and direct their limbs so elegantly one might mistake them for some prominent conductor or maybe even an old Greek statue — how they hold their … Continue reading When the Pretentious are Confused
Nous Voici. Nous y revoila, se balancant a travers les saisons mon ami. Donc Nous Voici, Nous y revoila, Comptant Nos benedictions seul dans le silence que se couche dessous nos sentiments… alors seul, maintenant seul, seul alors même pendant que nous rêvons de l’autre… Nous allons donc pas l’accent sur le reste. Juste nous … Continue reading Pas Encore…
“If writing’s what you love to do, then do it and don’t ever stop doing it. Because the only thing we’ll ever have is what we love.” – Cole K. Yet I find myself lost, wondering about my own merit. Gauging my success with a flawed metric. Success should be derived from accomplishments, feats … Continue reading writer’s laminate
How I’m moved By the wonder of The written word Of information And the way she Dances around me Books tweets Scrawls in notebooks In images and in Memories shes like A Moroccan dancer On an evening In Marrakesh Shadows slip From wall To soft dirt that layered The under foot Candle light Flickers from … Continue reading note .
Stone slab upon stone slab, cool to the touch. Draft greets them, their window hanging open a tad. “Grab a coat.” Her juul blinking silently as he begins to unspool a thick lump of Flandria Virginia. “Tin’s low.” Stone slab upon stone slab, cool droplets of rain collect on the stool where they … Continue reading Her juul
A teardrop rolls encumbered by Pain and Memory. One-part sodium, one-part water, three-part emotion, A teardrop rolls. Wide arching turn, it bends around the corner of the mouth Before dripping from the underhang of the chin. A brief moment of hesitation Then it falls And a teardrop refracts weight through its curves. It … Continue reading Teardrop,
Blackened spots cloud visions, the gaze far set upon the horizon, the dream lived is the dream created, bodies seeking refuge we are a collective forced to splinter under the weight of modernity & As our globe spins backwards we are twisted like the concept of time
An extrapolatory tongue dips into jars of ink— Watch it as it jumps down its hole; a rabbit, Elusive, quicksilver rolling down the crease created by your spine… It seeps into your skin, ossmossian mercury; Ichor, blood god of communication takes form: the thought chased, the thought dreamt- now-fleeting while the words become sonic structure … Continue reading exhalation sensory pit
The setting of the sun, The rising of the moon; How I want to hold you in my arms And look upon you as you swoon.
On the corner of Panola and Burdette there lies a quaint cafe by the name of Riccobono’s. Charging 8 bucks for a meager “two, two, three,” they run a steep risk and what’s more interesting, I’ve yet to ever see a black person working in the front of house. Upon entering I was met by … Continue reading Life as System: the Macro represented in the Micro