there is no such thing as casual conversation amongst poets. everything is fodder for the next poem. which is what happened when i was (in my mind) casually IMing with barbara jane. next thing i knew, a poem challenge was dropped.
here are the results…
a hex on the man who stole my leather jacket
if you had asked, i would have shared
the cancion negra of my mc jacket
shown you where the folds along the elbow
run deeper than the dervishes of african dancers
placed mineral sweat on your palms
blend your calluses in circular motion
till the brittle regains elasticity
but that wasnt where the song lied
my song would have found you
in the notes that exists
in every lamento
you searched for the riddle
of my ink even as my calculated
pauses gave you all the answers
as i left to find us tangerines,
you played insistent fiddler
and in your rage for knowledge
disappeared with my black song
for you, querido, i only wish
that it shields you from the rain
and holds back the cold
because a thief's heart
is very much like the poet's
only without the comfort
of silence
a hex on the man who stole my leather jacket
the 'on second thought- keep it' dub mix
last night, i lost my fool mind
walked down the alleys of my childhood
not looking for trouble
more like keeping
an appointment with it
handing over a pillowcase
that held your pictures,
some of my own hair
torn from the root,
and the toothbrush
left behind
the santera asked for sunflowers
i told her it wasnt that kinda spell
handed her alcohol i fermented
myself with molasses
and cake from your birthday
she nodded and said no more
walked away with these last
pieces of a mirror
i no longer see myself in
