so
gentle into dusk so tender under knives or so radical over theology: a man
running where she sits while I run back, collapse, to hear, The frustration
is patience! such expectant eyes such wayside miracles while taught the
Good Samaritan. I knew poverty while it seemed normal where comparisons are
hard while isolated; desolation doesn’t care, it speaks to greater forces, it
tells a story of possibilities. times might shift. you might meet an experimenting
white woman. you might renege on your maxims. such raw starkness or tetras
crimes where riches were meant likeness of old money: slave owner money,
economic money, even food company/cotton money. those most regal ways those
waves into organic orgasms or sight to face a deep feeling: some type of killing-me,
or rough patches, or reality shushing some need for loving aches: the poet
dying or living or such polarized sensations; where Love was filthy, or Love
was whorish, or Love was everything a black man deserves. this dog-eat-dog
world those romantic/alienated, or disappearing mistakes. to forgive every
week. to lie, so crass, or to crash where morning is eggs with bacon. such
bondage such blue lives matter, where blacks kill-over by dozens. such as 1965,
those deep angers, where a man was too tired to reap. such horses such
galloping such rage over race, woman, while so open one must decide to stay
present. a man needing acceptance, if but to feel good, plus, our women
shunning. so much us running one way, them running through us, our arms open
for our rubies! such inner government, or such a savior, while money became
what its intention operates.
