Fusion (Union pt. 1)

Show me something. Show me how to float. Show me hope. Show me laughter and happiness. Show me the antithesis of what i'm going through in this exact moment and please leave me open so that i can hold you once you've chosen to disclose an open sore that hasn't closed yet. Show me how to be bold and not fret. Show me how to forgive. Show me how to forget.

But first, let's commune. Let's link past, present and future, or perhaps enact a topical union and refuse the entropic dunes moving through us. Let's peruse the room in bliss and enlist whomever is amiss, solely to show 'em they're not alone. Let's reminisce on bits of our misguided youth and omit referring in terms like "stupid kids," since we weren't stupid -- just the opposite of shrewd. And optimism is probably the optimal option, too. Let's sit and talk 'til you nod off and stop gawking awkwardly at the wrought thoughts being tossed around in your top loft. We ought not knock it off, but if you fall asleep, i promise not to leave.

Show me how not to be cold. Show me how to relax my shoulders, drop this boulder, detach my atlas and pack it back in the sac of my holster. Show me something older than gold exploding in a supernova. Show me my purpose on this earth, or at least what i used to believe could descend from the heavens above. Show me a Goddess in ascension...

Show me love.

should let go

he's got afflictions of the liver because he's addicted to the liquor; sipping swigs of schnapps dipped in triple distilled vodka, knocking back shots and licking lips after kissing drops, snobbishly drinking drips of peach leakings which lead him to dream of

crisp movie screenings in high definition, motion pictures of preening while coasting to her location, smooth as a groove at the local disco with an ever-flowing gait, broad overture able to vacate a stronghold but also to hold and maintain her gaze, swooping through the loose and lewd crowd his mouth moves until tongue loses a sound: "how do you do? i know i might seem kind of proud right now but i promise my demeanor is never this pronounced. and honestly, i don't see a man in your glance so if he's not around then i thought i might have a chance to ask if you'd like to dance?"

flashback to a few seconds prior and you'll find he'd missed a passerby's high-five, face hit the side of a wall before the fall left it drenched in blood and as he got up he turned and asked if she'd like to fuck, to which she replied with an upchuck of chunks and thunderous laughter, ethanol and half-done supper splattering on the plaster next to background chatter, bluntly hazardous like the lack of a lead-lined hazmat suit in a radioactive factory.

juxtaposing fantastic fantasy with pragmatic reality was something he practiced avidly, so long as the vividly malevolent memories vivify and vilify his inelegant mind...

goodnite

i want to pretend things aren't what they are right now. i want to imagine that you don't have to see a protagonist of the same skin color as you in a movie in order to relate to that character. i want to believe that the men who think femininity is equivalent to submissiveness don't, because it's not, and that women who think all men are slaves to their penises don't, because not all of us are. i want to dream that your sexuality isn't a prerequisite to their friendship, and that they know attraction is not a choice. i want to see someone trying to initiate a conversation with a stranger without getting a disdainful look. i want to pretend my temper isn't so volatile and i'm not so sensitive. i want to pretend that you're okay with my being weird and eccentric, instead of avoiding me entirely. i want to imagine we can agree to disagree but learn to work to an agreement when necessary. i want to imagine not fearing falling in love again, dying with contentment instead of regret, and living with more curiosity while experiencing the objects of that curiosity. i want to see myself be selfless without feeling emotionally masochistic when i do.

but i guess that's what makes me a dreamer; we love to synthesize and romanticize possibilities...

benevolence

even though i broke it off i still thought of her often. either i think our road was loaded with frosting and sugar-coated appallingly sweet, or we both chose to stash the red flags into pocket-backs with overused handkerchiefs. but now, see:

i've got a hankering for her laying next to me, hands playing with dexterity, poking and stroking my skin as if akin to a piano key, with the propensity to elucidate and leave me lucidly attenuated from my unconventionally increasing density.

and some astrophysicists say a hole of black matter is most hazardous when it approaches the perigee of itself and a rapidly spinning adversary...

and i hope she doesn't hate me if i state i can't remember the exact date when we... oh, gee, looks like this dunce is digging a deeper ditch into which bones'll be thrown when she's done picking this old soul clean.

but after being dismembered i'll still retreat to the memories of her and me, surfing purposelessly, hurting imperfectly until the past has the audacity to act mercifully...

solar solace

looking down at the boundless field of clouds below, time slows and let's go of a bellow; turquoise space traced with vivacious silver velvet is paradoxically mellow; i find myself intoxicated by quixotic thoughts of what immersion in it would be like, of what it might noxiously incite...

once again i'm feeling kind of enlightened by flights of fancy, inviting fantasy, enticed by the quiet timbre, quite the sight as i watch an orb of amber ascend behind the horizon and scamper out of the skyline; light pastels dance for a while on the divide until night rises, sapphire scapegoating and coating the opening until indigo holds control; relinquishing the reins of my soul, i nosedive until i collide with the aether and burn up in the sky below, shredding and shedding my ego and--

-- patiently waiting for "you" to follow...

Solipsist/Room 1408

resonating indefinitely

sequestered the premises, split like the flick "Identity"

permanent residential tenants, unpleasant and ever-present memories

incessant memorandums for a requiem -- a few,

first require morbid stories executed in tandem, just two,

me after, it'd be ungentlemanly not to follow suit

am i Narcissus or Echo, am i me or am i you?

memoir of the enthralled

the rain's subsided, temporarily
but the humidity maintains;
you, standing at a window
kissing a slight draft
inhale --
hold it;
3... 2... 1...
exhale

i make my way toward the transparent pane;
you, still gazing
un-lithed distance and unrequited depth
but a subtle smile surfaces as you return
to my arms, they're enveloping your sides
your head tossed back, body nestled in my protection;
perfection

my lips meet your neck
your hair greets my cheek
and as you blindly reach behind your line of sight
i reply by
retreating to an ear
holding gold-covered stud prisoner...

slowly you swirl
and our eyes are cuffed
unwavering
fixated
you and
me became
we
perhaps there is still a chilled breeze
I can't tell;
but, what I have come to understand
is that this union
of earth-shattering thunder
and undeterred passion
is silence...

rapture, ecstasy...
and isn't it deafening?

limerence

by myself gyrating, caught, she had eyed me

walked over almost haughtily,

naughtily, she pressed her seat against these denim jeans and

quietly proceeded to embezzle quite a chunk of my attention

while she pleasantly surrendered to my company;

a head full of dark brunette leaning on my neck

breathing heavily, eventually

she turned so i could meet my captor,

and if it wasn't instant rapture then she was quite the actor

actress, rather, pardon me...

beat grooving, such smooth hips, moving up a bit, wide eyes and striking lips --

soft, sweet and silky, like i nipped a bit of chocolate and a hint of green winter

flittering between talking and whispers, till we were
Christmas-time quiet,

nearly silent in a room rendered deafening;

"leave with me" she obliged

and my desire declined any latent denials that might have resided in my mind as i

pried the door open so we could slide out into the night...

quite the breeze, a bit chilly, but supremely, we were at ease

nice night for a walk, skip the room, even though my apartment was right down the street

our hands sort of caught as we talked and gawked awkwardly

crossing fingers, flashing smiles then crossing streets, causing xenon-beamed speeding cars to halt to a tortoise-walk

and chalking concrete with bright orange sparks in plain sight...

indigo cloud sheets sheath the midnight blue sky,

my huge 'i spy' eye blinks as she breathes,

riding a high of Northern Lights, left the mellow 27's for me

watching the night light up with neon pink, ultraviolet and yellow spray can art,

elements of Skyy reside nearby and cut driftwood is drifting in, beginning somewhere off in the distance, reminiscent of campfire at a park;
so carefree was she, in her presence it was pleasant to be,
found my pheromones firing like rifles, prickles in my dome like when a foot falls asleep

amygdala swaying like waves crashing on the beach
and a song playing, caught on repeat,

skip--skip--skipping to my heartbeat...

appreciate the basics

i woke up today having broken into a cold sweat, still trying to make sense of the copious amount of death over the seven hours last spent; how the fuck did i sleep through those events?

enter shoulder lane, a bold sway left and no metallic frames in the way, going straight, coasting with no delay... a golden grate slowly strays into view, about a meter away, face placed into suede, no time to eschew, a blue buick gone astray, maybe two spaces away we grazed side-laced pavement and skated, skidded, i managed to spit up a shout without a bit of sound coming out, i reached out, tugged the driver and let her know that i loved-- that i love-- that i was...

granted, something told me i might die sometime right between twilight and sunlight, so i planted big hugs on my family the night prior.

i'm demanding an answer and i deserve to know why i'm a damned damper... damaged, detached and unlatched, so quick to quit quaint relationships, skipping the painstaking nulling of ropes that go to those who matter most, braving jaded phases and fading in hazy spaces, gracing folk with an abated presence... my scope dissipates, my soul left effervescent...

The All-American RedBlack&Blue; or 1st Amendment

"beatin'[/beaten] up ya block, yeah i get my Emmett Till on..."

stoned along the road and then showed chrome, a hole-blown dome,
barbed wire rope-tied to his throat and thrown over
water, often it was thought that he ought to have
choked on his charm and kept from provoking those older misters...
from fourteen to mortally disfigured
countless splinters, insurmountable dents and deep ditches digging into his dark skin
monsters embarking on broken whims,
partial remains parting from hopeless kin

a grimace made it's way across my face as i listened
what a potent quote this is,
joking about a kid who exposed his wit
in the wrong place, at the wrong time...
and in light of the freestyle, some of you may still say Wayne's rhyme is harmless,
and even kind of sublime...

well let's listen to a Homie in Paris,
and surely "goin' gorillas" isn't erroneous?
or how many times has a careless role model spit a line about
Jigga's "nigga lips"?
Nicki's hips or Tina's hits?
isn't someone who's little[/Lil'] or [Y]oung considered a kid?
and remember those 2 Chainz laid out around our necks, ankles and wrists?

___

O say can you see by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the limelight's last gleaming,
Whose faux stripes and tripe stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the vanguards we watched, were so valiantly streaming?
And the master's dead glare, the whips bursting through air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave,
O'er the land of the free and the home of enslaved?

___


especially 3:33-3:39

supernova

played with daydreams of being stripped naked, somewhat berated, in front of way too many strangers and strangely eager faces, dire eyes, disguised smiles, hiding behind the guise of confusion; check, delusions of grandeur and profuse amusement at my unruly cantor... overture, aperture, a picture, a picture of the gap between the first movement of Ego and the chorus of Avid Imagination...

and the grand prize lies behind door number one! plastered on the wall was he, cackling thunderously, stuck up under the wondrous belief that he wasn't torn asunder and quietly choking on the silence that struck as the door flung open, exposing the contents of his soul for all to hold and weigh, insatiably gauging the purity, waiting to judge how sturdy his persona seemed and whether or not he was faking the weathered display of hope behind the faithless gulp...

shit, i shouldn't have done this.

base Ten, or sentience

"hello? i'm aware. is anyOne there?" "oh oui, yes indeed. i am down. i'm despair.

see, they usually fare by floating on air, but i'll intervene, yes i do so dare...

i'd like you to see this discrepancy, please. don't just let me be; come, conjoin, what degree?

this person's referring to anonymous ze's, jane doe she's, unknown he's -- or how 'bout a we?"

"a wee little we. but this we, you shall see, these Two have their needs: we need you, we need thee."

"and the more you ignore and abhor us here Three, the more so distorted becomes this here plea."

"the more this chorus Four might seem to contort," "the more us Five guys shall rap up this rapport.

the ni'list skies blue, they doth border our shore, so all the more wide and confined our explores.

we pile knowledge more, chime in our reports; mere scores of years more and we'll board up this floor.

d'you want to hear more?" "well, Sick" "Seven" "atE" up "Nine." now, count on your fingers and wait for the punchline...

they're all watching...

"too black for the white kids and too white for the blacks,
from honor roll to cracking locks up off these bicycle racks,
i'm indecisive, i'm scatterbrained and i'm frightened, it's evident
in them eyes [are] where he's hiding all them icicles at..."


___

yes, they're all watching like a small clock on the wrist, but
my second best guess is that this dent in my chest stems from nothing less than paranoia
effervescent thoughts spiraling in this messy blender of a head
head resting on the couch as i drowsily drown out sounds of imperfect hyperboles in order to curb my thoughts
and then i thought,
i ought to stop drinking coffee at all, and
maybe i should stay off the prescribed allergy amphetamine analogs
no more pseudoephedrine for this nasal decongestion because i'm beginning to question whether i'm imagining laughter on the other side of this laptop --
stimulant psychosis? quite possibly not...

maybe white folk joke about how i, the smartest black guy they seem to know, still stoke the stereotypes
typos galore and quoting rap lyrics hardcore, probably blasting stereos at night
despite a rather high IQ score
that shit is still culturally relevant, but i wonder if they get it --
double entendre, need i say more?

or, perhaps black folk scoff at how far off the deep end i've gone
quoting grunge rock and turning on sleep songs with gongs
banging my head to emo shit and watching youtube skateboard throngs
tryna be a white boy, thinking bandz making her dance is oh so fucking wrong --
wondering just what the fuck is going on...

exactly how much of this shit is culturally relevant, and how much social conditioning?
finding that position into which i fit niftily
sitting here wishing i was anywhere but the fucking present, so
how about allowing me an anachronistic juxtaposition, please?
Star Trek, for the win, it's been a while since the ground has touched my feet...

Bianca

broken memories emanate from the gaping hole in my soul, roaming and crossing over, grabbing hold of her brain stem and being sequenced along with the nerves in her trembling hands as her eyes scanned the dark damp branches merely meters ahead -- please, PLEASE, take me, damn me, instead...

screeching tires and tireless tree-dwelling sirens screamed and shrieked until her ears bled, 3D, blue and red, the tippy top of her head reaching the glass ceiling until it seemed she could no longer float away. away she hoped to go, over with playing a pawn in and pondering life's throes, all alone, an absent joke of a father and absentee role model; mother mattered most, but not so much as a ghost...

hold me as i lay here veering and steering my mind from images of inane flames surrounding metallic frames, the scene of the crime; it pains me to see someone so sublime crying out for help one last time... hold me and together we'll cry... Lord, if you're out there, take mine, and please just do me this one last thing before i go:

please leave her soul behind...