Posts tagged POETRY
Leave it to Samson

Who else would seek out the body 
of an old battle, lion foe, & find 
entwined in the bone cage a hive of new, 

heart & lungs now floor to honey- 
filled storage rooms, waxen—before 
his downfall & blindness, & blindness 

the strength needed to reach
through sun-faded fur into a rotting, 
fetid carcass.

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Old Friends Home for Retired Racehorses

I went to the farm of retired racehorses,
listening as the guide told us of how
they’d been kept in stalls twenty-two hours per 
day so they’d confuse speed with freedom
as they bolted down the track—how, 
no longer able to race, they’d been                                                    
sold for slaughter, then saved 
by a journalist from Boston who had 
an idea: to give them these green-
brown fields, this long afternoon. 

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Dear Best Buy Employee,

I guess this could be an apology letter, 
of sorts, because I’m sorry, I really am, 
for stroking those sound bars into their own 
sonic, semi-erotic oblivion. Giggling all the way 
to the flat screens and pressing their power
buttons in pivot so that all your beats pills screamed
yes, they are still in stock. Did you know 
that everything in your store can be taught 
to speak with one another?

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the eddy

Is it the eddy that makes us include the bits
we did not want? Is it the curving hill that means
snow shapes our pathway? or just the cold black
thought that the eddying of memory never
brings back even a swallow of the days
in which I wandered and left, and jumped
off the high stones in a ravine, near our lake.
Ravine, lake, stone, eddy, all to be leapt
Hurry body hurry. My time, almost quit.

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Star Trek

Back then he saw himself, a Black Captain Kirk
cruising the cosmos in an Afro and tight gold shirt.

When he was eighteen, he tucked the doo-wop street corners
of his neighborhood into his back pocket and traveled

where no colored man had gone before. He crossed-over into suburbia
rang doorbell after doorbell while holding his breath, waiting

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Bar Jokes

And the bartender says, “Sometimes, when it’s a slow night, I think about those vacant November days, when the leaves are an ancient language on the sidewalk, a prayer to something old and blind. I think about how this joke would look, boarded up and rotting.”

And the man says, “That bad, huh?”

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This daily shrinking of a 28-letter alphabet 
Trading غين حاء عين ضادfor the Fourteenth Amendment
Dragging inshallah by the vowels from right to left.
English no longer my second language
Nor Arabic my first. 

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There is a museum of feathers
in that wisdom tooth: this is the real
reason your dentist is taking it out.
The insects of his anxious fingers
pry apart sprays of raw tissue,
bare pink stalactites of your mouth.

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