so early on such grappling—it’s 1980. such cozy, small apartments, or a palace one might lose.
can’t locate father, but he might visit come midnight hour.
blues blazing a backgammon game or some loud voice. scents or foggy spaces or chicken frying.
wits like bibles clichés like breaths as dominoes slam. deep baritones, deep frustration, deeper pessimism. wooded floors, expensive televisions, a sudden creaking—a knock at egos.
I’m four & waiting, such a droopy face. I keep running into dreams.
It’s Friday night. the party is colored. so many escape self…
what one sees is what becomes normal or aversion creeps in. maybe a stench triggers sensitivity or awakens a grave-to-soul-memory. maybe mother is beautiful. maybe father isn’t missed. or maybe a one parent nucleus is met by leniency. the money given, if father isn’t around, or help withheld if he is inhome.
kids have psychiatrists, diagnosed for being hyper, any child to misbehave, if colored, must need assistance.
a man can become tempted, in some direction, while he reflects on each mental painting. such a mural, such broken sidewalks, those trashbins filled with promises & liquor. if one might deign, as to permit love, if but most men weren’t strong anger. our changes our staircases our chipped stairs. where one says it plainly, “That isn’t lovemaking.”
cars sit on bricks. souls are destroyed. a teenager might reason like a sage. jazz is freedom or poolhalls are under suspicion or a sink in mid a highway. tires are rolled, right into traffic, children are chased by vicious elements. it becomes simplistic science, or meta-underdogs, while it’s an hour’s run to finding peace. such thunder or a phoenix as such elemental psychologists—to explain slums to renegotiate rules to perfect a ghetto bible—those women we love those toys as signs or those symbols as mind controllers. theft is excitement, or anxiety is eased, where a woman is too much affection—such gunning through Projects such police brutality while our world in traveling in reverse. such lying men such remorse for lying such forgiveness to die one more luxury. it’s motel seven, or hotel eight, such by the love we steal.
to
taste like living, or reminded—this ain’t living, where many are at peace with
our poverty. a soul as it shuns, a woman as she transforms, where most are on
the third round at it. such outside realities become inside pain where loving
becomes too hard. beige grass, shattered porcelain, or strays barking for food.
such celebration came, Mark was selected for a (football) team, a day later he
crashed doing ninety. his face was broken, split in halves, it would require
reconstruction. we looked into shadows, while a few were a little excited,
while most of us noticed. as to walk away, a person seated, looking like
himself. fences lean. tiles are peeling. it happens by hard labor. such cornbread,
such fresh greens, such black eye peas!
