The years

Poetry

 

The years

Time matches the way

she runs her smooth, auburn hair:

loose, sassy, with zest.

You’d not guess her checkered past

in the guilt of mens’ embrace.

 

*I will be without internet for the next few weeks. My next post will be published on the weekend of the 8th of August.

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Currents

Poetry

Currents

My heart keeps floating on

My heart keeps floating on

In storms

high winds

In wrathful waves

My heart keeps floating on.

My heart keeps swimming on

My heart keeps swimming on

my heart will swim

to you

my dear

My heart keeps swimming on.

Black body count

Poetry, politics

 

Black body count

He wasn’t shot for terrorist activities

He wasn’t shot for engaging cops in a drug bust

not for breaking-and-entering

not for running from justice

He wasn’t shot for resisting arrest

He wasn’t shot for public disorder

He was shot.

He was shot for wearing a hoodie

He was shot for resisting a stop-and-frisk

for walking in a gated neighborhood

for threatening looks on the subway

for removing hands from pockets

for driving too slow by

He was shot for playing music too high

He was shot for using coarse language

wearing a bandana

pants hanging too low

style of walk too ‘thuggish’

He was shot.

He was shot because he was young

He was shot because he was Black.