In the forgetting,
lost to the winnings, discounting the loses, and sinning was nonchalance;
thrust through, living a dream, fretting conscienceness. Mother gone, demanding
respect, tender admissions—a heart-to-heart, tears falling, praying like ten
hours—trying to escape what destiny prevails. Never knew him, was never sought
by him, I wonder about my daughter, and how she feels. Never did it, spoke
against it, caught a terror for beliefs; and granny was passive, many excuses
for behaviors, I wonder about black elders. Never wanted to know the feeling,
never asked for the predicament, never desired to see death, addiction, and terrors.
Love keeps asking the same question, how does a man respond, trying to outlive
facts. It’s easy to talk shit, at some perfect ideal, unless realizing
inadequacies. I trip the meraki, I flip the Bacardi, people ask for what can’t
be given, nor received.
