Post the Fourth 2 or Shapeshifter

Sometimes the only thing I can do is bend

Twist

My shape

Abandoned

For another

The full moon

or

A robyn winging through the trees

Mold my body like clay

Forming strange new limbs

That catch rain drops falling

From the rings of Saturn

Erecting deranged feats of mental architecture

An Escher painting cut from jagged stone

Trying to shield

From your residence in my mind

Taking tufts of my skin

To form a disguise

Hiding myself from your gaze

Sometimes the only thing I can do is change

–

But not this time

I will not lose myself to you

Will not shift my shape for your convenience

Your comfort

Your stupidity

I cannot be what you want me

I will not be

What you want me to become

A canvas for your crimes

A receptacle for your guilt

Mark me

I will kill you

Before you forget

My true

Self

Post the Third 2 or Sometimes all you need is a love poem

Open

Like the scent of orchids

Open

Like the whisper of baby’s breath

Open

Like

Sometimes I wonder why I love you

And remember the feel of your palm

As it moves up the inside of my

Thigh

My breath catching

Open

Like the way your lips travel

Around my navel

Causing thoughts of oceans to

Bloom

Open

Like losing myself your crevices

Trying to come up for air

But sinking deeper into the folds

Of your love

–

Sometimes the distances

Seem so insurmountable

The bridge between us

So narrow

A drop more perilous then

Death

But still

You open to me

Allow yourself to be

Vulnerable for me

Let me hold your heart

In my own flawed

Hands

To murmur sweet words

And study the road maps to the

Core of who you

Are

–

Sometimes all you need

is a love poem

Sometimes all you need

is that kind word

to remember your greatness

And sometimes all you need

are dreams and fairy tales

to survive

But

Most of the time

I need something more solid

Like the weight of your body pressed

Over mine

Or milk and honey spoon

fed under moon

light

Or that one time I had an asthma attack

And you came rushing

Held me close to your chest

And with your kiss

Made my heart

expand

–

Sometimes I wonder

Why you love me

Then I write a love poem

And remember

Post the Second 2 or A poem for New Orleans

The city

Is touched by

Madness

The cracks in

The sidewalk

Filled with memories

and ghosts

Walk through the

night

Looking  for home

–

This used to be

Swampland

She said

Teeming with muddy

Water

and the sediment

of centuries

A sacred place

Where the rains

Of the four corners

would mix

Bringing tidings

Of great things

In land

Far away

–

How do you mourn

That which

is no longer felt

no longer known

How do you remember

Something

that was never forgotten?

–

Now the land is

rotten

she said

Buried under layers

of oil and concrete

levees and canals

What once was a home

to many

Is now a barren place

Filled with the miasma

of self-hatred and

Willful neglect

–

How do you imagine

Something that is real

Manifest something

That can never be

Make love to something

That was never there?

–

The marrow of this place

She said

has been sucked dry

desicated remains litter

the ground

white shapes savagely

drain

Art Culture Experience

for their sustenance

trying to stave off

the Yawing jaws of emptiness

I must have more

They say

More More More

and their appetites are never

sated

–

Despite this

She said

We survive

In the cracks of

The sidewalk

Growing up out

of destruction

In the notes that leap

from the Jazz bands

Brass

In the homes

we rebuild and the seasons

we weather

–

We survive

She said

Because we must

There is no other option

the ancestors that we

Remember impel us

Forward

To claim what is ours

–

I see now

Where the road

Turns

and resistance exists

even if it is not

known

Post the Ninety-Seventh or Make Love to Rage

The words

Born from my fingers

Glitter like blood

In flames

Forming visions

That cause my heart

To freeze

–

Wings alight

On the lids

Of my eyes

Femme Fierceness

She says

Is a birthright

To power

And sorrow

Dressed in the color

Of glory

Walking through worlds

Watching

Waiting

With eyes the darkness

Of space

–

Chief Spence

Sits

In her tipi

Filled with legacies

Of betrayal

Her belly

As empty as the promises

Made

By white men

But she stands

Tough

With iron encased will

Femme Fierceness

Can topple

Empires

–

I want

To get married

To shields and spears

Wear a wedding dress

Made of morning stars

And a veil

Of daggers

Make love to rage

And bust open

Across six continents

Revealing the dismembered

Bodies and

Broken

Land

Holding it all

Femme Fierceness

Does

Not

Flinch

–

My friend

Stands there

Shaking

Trying to

Re

Move

Trespasses

That mark her

Mascara running

Nose bleeding

I hold her

Imagining

The most exquisite

Revenge against rapists

Femme Fierceness

Does not

Take

Prisoners

–

Terror

Is a familiar

Bedfellow

The threat of violence

A constant companion

Pale shadows that

Dance across my body

Following me down

Alleys

Up streets

Into home

And

Soaked sheets

Twist around

My face

Femme Fierceness

Feels fear

But

Never backs

Down

–

I am

A fierce femme

A big

Scarlet fuck you

Ejaculated across

Masculinity’s face

They do not own

Me and my

Silence cannot be

Bought

Post the Ninety-Sixth or Its Starting to Feel

Never

Understood the point

Of posturing

Moving through

Life

As rote

–

The store clerk

Approaches

Big white and gay

Self-important vacancy

Searching

For meaning

Beady eyes

The color of a tidal pool

Attempting to scrutinize

My every move

To him

Suspicious

It’s always

The stupid ones

Who think

They are

Intelligent

–

Riotous paper chains

And gaudy lights

Obscure meaning

Plasticine smiles plastered

Over bleached

Faces

Full of emptiness

Crying

War on Christmas!

War on Wholesomeness!

War on Goodness!

They wonder

How to stop it

How to protect

Themselves from

The encroaching Brown

Masses

There is a war

Going on

But they are not

The casualties

–

Beige mouths

The size of football fields

Gobbling up resources

And my people

The Indigenous

Queers

Trannies

Black, Brown and Red

Are left

Outside in the heat

Fumbling for scraps

Sometimes knowing

Is not enough

–

I under

stand

Now

The reason for

Posturing

Is

Easy

Deceptive

Destruction

Post the Ninety-Fourth or How to be a Douchebag

The room as dark

As your mind

The stage as bright

As my scrutiny

And you walk

Full of vacant

Masculine swagger

Your words

Devoid of meaning

Bullshit pouring

Out of your mouth

Splattering all over the stage

Confusing sexism

For philosophy

Your trite and hollow poetry

Masquerading as

Profundity

–

School is in

Session

So take a seat

And remember that

Reading

Is Fundamental

–

You say

We are equal

Say that there is no

Difference

In our experience

But just

Listen

To the millions of women

Who are victims

Of domestic violence

Just read

About the millions of women

Who are assaulted and raped

By men

Who think

We are equal

You say

“I should just be able to compliment

A beautiful woman”

But all I can think

About

Is what that man whispered

As he tore at my crotch

And violated the most intimate parts of myself

“You are just so beautiful”

“How could I resist”

You say

You feel objectified

But when

Was the last time

A stranger

Followed you down the street

Hurling compliments

At your unwilling ears

When was the last time

Some asshole commanded you

To smile

When was the last time

You felt unsafe

Because you thought someone would sexually assault you

When was the last time

Someone called you

A bitch

Hoe

Slut

Cunt

Dyke

Because you denied some strangers

Advances

–

The thing is

Dude

You can’t say

The same sexist shit

That society tells women

And be a feminist

You can’t be “for equality”

When you fail to see the disparities

That keep us unequal

Matter of fact

You wouldn’t know what

Feminism was

If it fucked you

Matter of fact

You are not entitled

To a woman’s

Affection or attention

Just because you are

a Nice Guy™

You do not get a cookie

For meeting the standards

Of being a decent person

–

But please

Keep crying those salty motherfucking tears

About how hard it

Must be to be

A man

In a world dominated by men

But by all means

Continue to regale me

With all those stories

Of how you

Are such a misunderstood

Nice Guy™

But hold up

Before you do that

Do us a

Kindness

And fuck off

Post the Ninety-Second or I

I

Don’t know

What it is like

To die but

I

Know

What it is like

To live with

Grace

–

My hand trembles

As I hold this blood

Soaked pen

Blood like rivers

Flow from the tip

Of my shores

Shoring up

The weak

Parts of self

I

Remember my sisters

Cradle them in my palm

Between lines and fingers

Charting the course

Through which I

Blaze

Like life

–

I

Am

Still alive

Despite statistics

My body crossed

With intersections of death

Living

Life

–

They will not

Claim me

Today

Will not

Find

My body strewn

Like so much offal

Across the pavement

Will not

Mark the way

I move

For death

I

Mean to survive

To live, love

And thrive

I

Mean to show

Everyone

What it is like

To hustle

In a brown trans body

I

Mean to materialize

A life

That is

Abundantly

Full of familia

Love

Comfort

The softness that

Goddess has

To offer

–
I

don’t need

To assimilate

don’t need

Your “marriage equality”

Your white picket fence

2.5 children

I don’t need

Your lie
–

Because

I want justice

Justice for my sisters

Justice for myself

Justice for all of the people

Marginalized by life

Justice that does not involve

Police brutality

I want to bring

My ancestors back

From the dead

And raze this world

To the ground

So that it can

Rise anew

Like a Phoenix

Reborn
–

I

Plan to keep

Drawing breath

I

Know how quick

Life can go

Blink

And you miss

It.

Blink

And you’re dead

But until then

I will feel

My heart pump

Vitality to limbs

My lungs breathe

Joy to heart

My mind thinking

Spirit to life

I

Am

Alive

And I am

Gonna

Live it

Up

Post the Ninety-First or Tombs

Fancy ass houses

Sprout up like weeds

Among the desiccated shells

Of homes past

&

The street corner is still

A battleground

Full of ill-forgotten

dead

–

DEVELOPMENT

DEVELOPMENT

DEVELOPMENT

He cries

Come one

Cum all

To Free Market

Circus

Where all your dreams will come

True

Where the only person that matters

Is you

Where all your cares can be laid

To rest

(If you are white, rich and exploit the already exploited)

Nevermind

The broken communities

The displaced people

The alienation you feel in your soul

–

The Crier Cried

Are you tired of your

Perfectly manicured lawns

Your neighborhood associations

Your serene and “safe” home?

Why not

Spice it up!

By moving to this

Low-Income Neighborhood!

(The Natives call it the “Hood”)

For the low low price

Of fucked up racial dynamics

You too can be that edgy white dude

Or that free spirited hipster girl

You can be the face of post-racial Amerikkka!

And for a limited time we will throw in a Black Friend^TM

To prove you aren’t

A racist!

(And if the Natives bother you just call the cops!)

–

Do you

Enjoy flaunting your wealth

In front of the folks

You stole it from?

Do you

Have a burning need

To assuage your guilt

By saving the black and brown children?

Than step right up

I dare you

–

Come closer

Take a hard

Look

At what you have

Wrought

Upon yourself

–

Nothing

But a putrid emaciated corpse

Croaking feebly

“I hunger.”

&

Those fancy ass houses

with windows turned

Inward

Are

nothing

but

Tombs

Post the Eighty-Eighth or Juntos

Rough edges

Grate across each

Other’s

Heart

Words fall

Like drops

Out of your mouth

Into sore wounds

I never knew what love looked like

But you showed me

The inside of your flesh

And I remembered

My

Self

Re-membered

Love is only ever

What we give

–

The sun lies

Across the mountain

Paining the sky crimson and gold

I turn to see

Your face outlined

In scrub bush and nettle

Your lips the color of

Twilight

Qué es el cariño

Entre dos cuerpos

Constantly atropellado by the world

When the only sure thing

Is death?

Querido

Keep your palm pressed

Against mine

And don’t be afraid

Porque estamos

Juntos

Post the Eighty-Seventh or Whole Pieces

Displaced

My Body               torn

Into                                       precise

/                       Pieces

Distilled

Into marrow

–

Brown skin

Soft breasts

Hard cock

These parts

House

Fire

–

Limbs

Made of glass

With-stand great

Heat

But

Shatter

Easily