Black Convocation/Ramen Shop.

     Black Convocation

Poem.

clarity about this very real figment

of my imagination is

not possible,                      (pigment)

actually, I don’t want to think

I don’t want to think about this

these problems never go away

I’m not black my name’s OJ

        okay

I can’t breathe

I can’t breathe

I can’t breathe 

        okay

Poem.

Not everything coheres.

          Remember: not everything

                         coheres

Poem. 

Regret is such a useless thing

I’d so prefer it, if

you did not, look!,

                    at me

                    that very

                        , if

regret is such a useless thing

why preface it with the word

              (poem)

why preface it with eyes.

I will never forget the word

-even if it messes my head. 

          

Poem.

I mean, yes, of course, yes

I’m so, so hungry

but I will not eat you, no, not

no, of course, not like that.

      I otherwise like you,

                I promise. 

Poem. 

A few more words about: coherence, 

it doesn’t exist for me, I’m so hungry

for everyone else and their platitudes.

It must be nice to avoid existential breathlessness.

I like that word: breathlessness.

I resent that platitude: existential.

I am not bitter, I promise.

It’s just that the air…

it tastes so…

                      …(blue.)

Poem.

I don’t believe in you but

                             your face.

***

     Ramen Shop

Poem.

Tomatoes are nice 

fruits or vegetables, I like them.

I eat now. It is nice.

Cheese has a fullness.

Meat a warm blankness.

And my tongue- 

The business of living makes me be.

And it is often simple,

         I would cry.

         Could, but can't,

         I could.

Poem.

Okay, so, that didn't bother me that much

anyway, people are nightmares,

but that's okay, okay?

that wasn't even the problem.

I think it was the gleam,

ass-light.

People think that there's a sun,

a whole ball of it,

up their asses.

So, yeah, it's hard to say:

maybe you should stuff it

maybe you kinda suck.

There was another light.

It wasn't so bad. 

I sort of liked it.

It was nice.

It didn't wake me too harshly.

How can I explain:

     stained glass, church

     small solution, math book

     small ocean, vagina

     curved shaft, penis 

that sort of thing. I guess.

the perfect sunny of not giving a fuck.

     

Poem.

People are enthusiastically boring

I wish I could get more sleep

Sex isn't interesting: neither are my hands

It doesn't matter when you cum

I believe in the Bible once

Physics doesn't make much sense to me

I'm saying that I tried

I don't like the sort of questions you ask me

Ask better questions

Maybe one day people might fit together

until then, please, ask better questions

Poem.

I'm like, one person

How is there never enough space for me

You talk and your mouth is...

listen, I'm like one person

The air sort of passes by

from time to time

        sort of how

your mouths do. 

Whose mouth was first on whom?

I thought it would feel better.

You asked more than once,

if it feels good. Stop

asking questions that aren't 

                 good. Stop,

no, not like that. Yes,

       maybe like that.

Several Poems That Ought to Have Been Raps.

  (1).

Poem.

Poems, bars: people, stars

Eyes lookin' Life on Mars

Boy wonder looks at mirror- Blackstar

Boy wonder looks at mirror- Blackstar

No time for jokers cause I keep it Nightwing

Fly 'til early morning, next day, coda, swinging

Pendulum, swift; please acknowledge the kid,

even though he skinny like Syd

What a future: even if it Odd

Grimace in my face like I'm General Zod

But I keep it Clark Kent with the moral sentiment

Merriment when I'm flying over all Metropolis

Heaven sent? God bless. Still stressed.

Still flex. Morning breath. Kinda fresh

I guess with your skin under your dress-

aaaaah, where was I again?

Are we having fun anymore?

Not really? We still friends?

I'm sorry we not talking anymore.

Sorry, who are you? 

Voice to void to void the void

annoyed but buoyed by white noise

helps to take the fact that there no point

as given, what difference with man with boy

he toys with himself with eyes closed

eyes opened: it's the same, she broiled

and her breath fuzzed like... white noise

fizz-fizz, hiss-kiss.

Dorchester St. Quartet

I.

//Yum Yum, No Vacation//

Such remarkable running you did there

You look like you're out breath, where is the air

You carried around yourself, air-bending monk

Heaving this way and that like you're in a funk

Yeah, I know, promised to never comment on you or your look

No more, at least to myself, but, baby you shook

Like how you shouldn't be, like someone like me saying 'baby'

Please, I trickled down your throat- gravy

Maybe, if you wasn't lying to yourself, life would be gravy

But then again- my mind is hazy

Maybe, if I'd been more faithful than lately

We coulda ended more stately but that's just a maybe

I like to deal with certainties so if it ain't that physics

I gotta ask why, where and when is it biting me

My space and time aren't hyphenated I'm not prepared to give

Myself away like that- so, can I live?

(Eh, you prolly didn't like me that much anyway

Eh, it doesn't bother me that much anyway

Yeah, writing past that call me Hemingway

Blam, end of a verse just like Hemingway)

II.

//Beach Bummer, No Vacation//

Oh wow, what weather indifferent is difference

Hello Boston, with your moodiness, how is you feeling?

I'm doing fine cause I'm doing me

Shower with rain and ice, movements in your symphony

Sympathy wasn't no nothing I asked from you

But double negatives ain't mahala so hala with sunlight akuna mathata

Lion King if you really wanna know

Roaring on so bitter with this flow

like

You really gon' try play me out of this Simba

Like Mufasa didn't gift me that rhythm marimba

Whatever homie, they don't even know me

Way they actin' up, they could win a Tony

Bummer- and I thought I wasn't good enough

I'm good, getting out of my dreams, getting out of my seat

Good- like the only house concrete after a huff and a puff

Summer- only time the lyrics get done- sheesh!

III.

//Biking, Frank, Jay, Tyler//

Watch      what you say to me

Watch      pretty clear to me

Tick-tock til' next drop you don't mean none to me

No more if you play me, see

Soft boy, hard heart if need be, breathe

Not just for next stroke, left strokes, knees

Don't get weak, leave dirty sheets hang in breeze

Last whole night b, don't mean I'm happy

Pretty nice problem if you asked him

Little boy playin' 'round Invader Zim, where his friends

at? act   like   you   -   don't care

act? act         -you do-  so scared

Of dying lonely, crying won't be done

Nothing welled in tear ducts since fifteen, no fun, so done

with this shh... where the catharsis

Hamlet complex: the rest is shh... silence

IV.

//Fourth of July, Sufjan//

O, when the crickets clunkered and thundered

I thudded against myself- mind against skull

Bruce Banner in Incredible Hulk, whisper in bulk

Ghost in the Shell, heard sorta mumbled

Skip a few weeks later she breathes on my neck

Same thoughts really I don't like how I see me

I mean, I like myself, I hate my body

Or rather the idea of a body, microphone check:

Can I finally hear myself? Am I still stuck in myself?

Can I get outta myself? Can I please get some help? 

I like living and touching and I like what she did there

But imagine if could disappear into universals and share

the same space as numbers and shapes

with none of this creaking and yearning my body it makes

I am a corpse in the making- and so is she

No matter how long we keep at it I am still inside of me

I didn't finish

I didn't finish

I didn't

I didn't

I

I

  (2).

Poem (after Chanel, by Frank).

Whether or not you could've foreseen it

Whether or not a nigga had dreamed it

I dreamed it, somewhere, possibly

   dreamed it, multiverse hypothesis

-dreams, of course, are a common pornography

catch dat alternating history, it is a discography

of movement of movements from Romantic to Classic

fuck it, I know I went backwards

I'm backwards, because, I never look forward

I'm bored, oh god, it's already the morning?

                 oh god, it's already the morning?

I die pretty like a girl

Ophelia

I die pretty like a girl

Ophelia

Poem (after Chanel, in Shanghai).

Way my pockets were snug- dick print felt like a hug

Know that you like it and liked it like that

No need to be mad, a nigga spitting facts

Fax- obsolete but scan and send me, fly like a bug

Cockroach, black Beatle, K-West, bald eagle,

with hair, long like Samson, no bitch Delilah

Delilahs flowers mysterious powers in the pussy print too, even after the shower

Not golden- just clear like water: breath and drink and devour

Let's pause for a moment and think about that

                                                think about that

         pause for a moment and think about that

                                                think about that

Poem.

Thoughts are so reckless citizens feckless still

Society got me buggin' but thumpin' doe

If I'm gonna dance let it be in this hell

If we gon' romance, can it just end well

for once it'd be nice to hit it and smile, fill

you up and sip-sip all off of that cup, mo' 

drink, drink water in the fountain of your legs

where the youth, youth going, no more shots from the kegs

for me, no more, no more

'ready drank too much- what else is in the store

for the night, is it nice? is it Nike? am I right?

be my wife? Not tonight, but I'mma hit you with dat spice

Yeah let it all go let it all go go 

                let it all go let it all go go

                let it all go let it all go go

                let it all go let it all go go

Poem.

Breathe- don't matter if air is fresh

Colour of my lungs- canvas is flesh

phleghm look like thick paint- god, cigarettes

you hit a blunt a lil' much, rather just sweat

out the toxins 'fore problems prevent more mopping

you promised you wouldn't puke again on floor, 'member Mama's calling

She says your sister said hello- is everything great?

said sure- just as soon as I remember where my mind is at again

Poem (w/ P and S, after Alicia Keys, in Hangzhou).

I don't write love songs no more

You then ask what is this for

I said that I really don't know

But either way would you come home

                                       come home

                                           come home

                                                            ­        

                         ....Yeah yeah yeah yeah

Yeah yeah....

Baby I got it and no not ironic

The way that I see you go way past the logic

All of the girls in they summer dresses

Got me rappin' without none of the stresses

Blessings on blessings I'm countin' them: Chance

Sonnets to hip-hop that modern romance

Fly me to China, I teach you Setswana

Drinking that wung zai 'cause batho ra tshwana-

Pink: pretty girls like trap music

Think: of who got dat music make movements-

That's me, that's real, any other nig gotta deal

got 'em feels, give 'em tissues, take no issues, under heel-

Step on 'em: let 'em know that I'm only one

Tell on 'em: got the screenshots say I'm the one

Did on 'em- right damn I hit 'em with dat beat

Pretty picture model sisters never follow through like you

See I got you boo

Like no one else luh you

Some people want it all

But I just want you

Yeah, I got you boo

Like no one else luh you

I also got dem views- and damn-

all of dem views's you

                                              *

What was the joke that we thought was so funny?

Can I hear it again? Can it touch me at night

and make me feel again?

***