imagine a switch that you could
flip to turn day into
night—
shutting the sun off like
a halogen lamp dissipating blue to
black revealing blinking
stars and emptying streets of
people and cars
gone, will be all signs of life
(or at least, into hiding:
beneath rooftops and cotton
Sheets—where i’d really rather
be
with you)
at the flip
of a switch.
i watched with pride
but entirely aware
of a sense of shame
in praising what should
surely be an expectation
and not the celebrated exception.
storefronts close
clenching like teeth
against the night.
darkness caught me
by surprise the other night
outside–a lonesome
firefly brought it
to my attention.
the leak
in the ceiling caused
a slight curling
effect faintly
resembling
a vagina.
now i
am abashed
when we
have company
hoping they
won’t look
up into
our home’s
secret regions.
(but it does make
an excellent conversation piece)
I.
so i’m teaching the other day when there is a knock on the door i answer it and it is a mother i stand at the slightly open door as the mother peers over each of my shoulders (which is not very difficult given my ancestry) and then asks is the teacher in there oh you’re the teacher you look so young how old are you i’m (fucking) twenty four and yes i look young (but i’m the only person in this room wearing a fucking tie).
II.
in school again the day is almost over i am standing at my desk and children are trickling in when in wanders another mother report card in hand and her son in tow she is clearly here to inquire about his grade but there’s that look again that vacant glance searching everywhere failing to find an authority (loooking) figure she then approaches a seated female student and begins discussing said report card.
III.
this time it’s a man on the doorstep of my house he begins to look over my shoulders and mumbles something about wanting to speak to the man of the house yes i am him i live here nah the MAN of the house yes i (fucking) own the house ignoring me he seeks the hand of my friend who granted has facial hair and welcomes him to the (fucking) neighborhood.
this summer
let’s drop off the face of the earth
and then emerge, merged
adjusting our eyes to
autumn.
once thought dead
these flowers bloom blood red:
after the storm.
an orange slide
with graffiti: NIGGA, BITCH–
following you down.
heads down
dreaming on the cusp
of summer.
fearing eye
contact voices
barely audible
and hands
shaking
i watched them read
the words that they
poured so much
timelifeemotionpainhope
into
proud to take
their pain then, like
alchemists with baggy pants
or big hoop earrings,
create something
incredible releasing
it into the stifling
early summer indoor air
of the partially lit
library
i watched this all
and hoped they
would never forget
what it means to
really
speak.
i have to
discipline my
body to change
my ways and
stop pooping in
the morning
because it’s
making me late.
I have a vision
of a revolution
starting soon
by kids just like you
in the middle of the night
they will sneak into houses
and make everything right
they’ll pour out bottles of beer
and leave copies of Shakespeare
they will replace guns with pens
so words may be used to make amends
they will free abused children
and let them know God loves them
they will transform profanity
into esoteric vocabulary
they will give voices to those silenced
to speak out against this violence
they will find lost fathers
and make them tuck in their toddlers
they will erase tags of C.M.D.
and post their college degrees
and proclaim that they are C.M.E.:
Camden’s Most Educated.
and they are here to
replace
create
believe
hope
here to
save
free
teach
speak
and someday you will see Camden in the news
not for gunshots, drugs, or booze
but for a group of kids who were fed up
and decided that they’d be the ones to step up.
i
lose myself
in bustling paper cities
peering through high rises
and alleyways
beneath overpasses
and soiled park benches
within rush hour crowds
and last calls
in hopes of finding that
one poem
you will never
forget.
there is nothing as satisfying
as slowly awakening
on a freezing morning
wrapped in the warmth
of a full night’s rest
not wanting open eyes
because you know
nothing can compare
to this comfort
so sleep
whether it’s a quick
twenty minutes stolen
in the middle of the day
or an indulgent twelve
hours when you’ve nothing to do
sleep
from the lowliest
vagrant upon concrete and cardboard
to the king upon silken sheets,
we all just make it through the day so we can
sleep.
it is the answer to everything:
long day? sleep.
ate too much? sleep.
didn’t eat enough? sleep.
just got dumped? sleep.
lost the big game? sleep.
failed that test? sleep.
poor? sleep.
stupid? sleep.
in jail? sleep.
dead? sleep!
You spoke spanish to me in the dark
silently and slowly
close to my ear
like a spider spinning a web
each word a strand to
entangle–
feeling myself trapped, i
did not struggle, but:
smiled
(in the middle of the day
as i thought about this/us)
Why do I love you?
You have the key to my heart.
Fo’ lyfe I’ma call you mah boo,
Even when we’re apart.
You are more beautiful than a rose,
You always look so sexy.
Even when you pick your nose
I know you are my destiny.
To me you never lie,
You always speak the truth,
as sweet as apple pie,
You tell me I got spinach in my tooth.
Your love fills up my heart,
Thank god you can withstand my farts.
poor chairs
spend all day holding
butts.
a decade ago friend
departs leaving
my soul
heavy and sad
in the wake of this
parking space.
jogging wheezing
beneath these green trees–
trash in every yard.
the sieve and the sand 
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