only when my blood is tar and i dribble pitch for tears/
why quibble over love and lust, it’s bitchin switchin gears

I…um… I just had a very elaborate dream about Kanye West

my mom brought him home and asked me to entertain him, and so we talked about music and art and haters until the food was ready and I made him a huge plate of soul food.

I woke up 20 minutes before my alarm clock feeling refreshed, silly, and a little daft.

I mean, I like the music most of the time, but I can’t be dick-riding Kanye like that….dreaming about him? That’s kinda….eww.

But…. does anyone have his phone number?(I knew I shouldve got them digits that night….) For purely professional purposes, of course…

PS-
I don’t like you. YOU. I do not. I really really don’t like YOU.
(and if you can’t feel my loathing snaking down your spine right now, you probably aren’t the YOU to whom I am referring)

a broken-winged blackbird
gurgling promises on your doorstep
Is this flying?, I thrash
rolling and diving in the night stretch
of your brutal eyes
Or the drunken illusion that I can?
Yes, somewhere there is a moon
bright enough to show our midnight truths
but not here
not now
and if never,
what then
of my hollow bones
split and splintless
beating helplessly
on the pavement
at your feet

It is the stage
black
darkness taut
a piano string quivering
in wait of its concerta

a sharp and deliberate empty
warm and welcoming
a wet mouth parted for a
wordless kiss

space
blank
womb
the pre-creation nothing
pregnant with possibility
canvas arching longingly toward brushes
like a lover’s back in rapture

then
the gentle fade to full
like the first command of genesis
lights
hot and honest

we
in stillness
breathing
bathed in simmering zoot suit colors
reds smelling of Sunday swagger
searing saxophone blues

scene

we dance
the language unspoken
hearts pounding ancestral in the silence

brow
lash
tongue
pulsing moment pivots

then
like lightning cracked clouds
voice
spills
recedes and swells
cascades from the edge
into the inkwell open beyond

It is the stage
a vibrant wash
It is sound
soliloquy
overture
every moment full and heavy
plump pomegranate tossed and
bursting on the tongue

we splash the black
with precision
dialogue and pause acrylic
a terse and passionate thrashing
carving legacy ephemeral in the air

eyes locked
sweat
breath

scene

fade
fade
fade
to black

curtain

Umm…. I’m sorry kid, I don’t know what you heard but Def Poets are not all rich. I’ve been on TV once – you drive a nicer car than I do. Well, did . That is until you decided to run a stop sign and use my driver’s side door as a brake. Oh, you don’t have insurance? Well, then your mom needs to pay to get it fixed, since the car is registered in her name and you’re a freakin minor.

Hey, anyone interested in being Kristiana’s personal driver, for the generous compensation of her company and favor?

::: sigh ::::