'Maison' |
There is a fire in my veins when friday's sun sets.Pulsating, a rhythmic scat, swinging into break beatdancing into flames of forgetting the namesof boys who have betrayed meto the copper coated chamb... Posted by on Sat, 03 Jul 2010 18:53:00 GMT |
Clinical Depression |
You say you want to read my poemsTo imagine, some sort of order rhythm reflecting a depth behind the rhyme scheme.You want to wear my words like winter coatswrap them around you with some semblance of... Posted by on Mon, 24 May 2010 19:11:00 GMT |
Emmanuel Xavier- Beautiful Poem..... |
A SIMPLE POEMfrom Bullets & Butterflies: queer spoken word poetryI want you to continue writingbecause I will not always be aroundWith lips that will never touch mine read your poems out loud so that ... Posted by on Mon, 24 May 2010 19:09:00 GMT |
exercise in futility |
I caught heavenwrapped around my fingers.Apollo leaves his essenceon individual blades.I am immortalsurrounded by porcelain surfaces.I caught heaven,making me bleed as you dosilken skin recedinglike b... Posted by on Mon, 24 May 2010 06:28:00 GMT |
Identify The Witness |
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I am poor white trash.
My heels leathered, barefoot children,
Chicken feathers. Imperfect grammar.
It doesnt matter now
With my mask plastered,... Posted by on Tue, 27 Apr 2010 10:45:00 GMT |
American Smack |
When the beat drops bladed, my blues will be severed.As I came down jaded, I coined clever chorus lines This system redefines,from the gems in glass stems of red wines. Beneath, the pavement my boots ... Posted by on Tue, 06 Apr 2010 15:04:00 GMT |
"Master" of Ceremonies |
I bring it back to bare bones, like basement tapes,Let it burn like the entrailsIn the hay bales of Hitchcock barnyardsWar scars, carving eyesores in solar plexusesBackseat Lexuses.When NO is not enou... Posted by on Tue, 30 Mar 2010 16:29:00 GMT |
The Pick Up Artist |
I watch you waste your time,Loading lines to catch phrasesClichés, conceiving ways to break down these defensesIts funny to me, your personality, spun 360 degreesSitting in a bar wanting her on her k... Posted by on Fri, 19 Mar 2010 15:22:00 GMT |
untitled |
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Does it explode?
When you touch it. Tangible syllables made from cracks in
concrete sidewalks. The crinkle of cellophane cigarette wrappings.
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We were walking
at 3 in the m... Posted by on Sun, 21 Feb 2010 08:22:00 GMT |
Harlem, 3:00 AM |
Awakenings.Morning-side heights to a mattress on fifth-flat floorboardsI can't make the words scream, Nuyorican, congealing like condensed teas in thai restaurants. I want to wrap the city around me,... Posted by on Mon, 18 Jan 2010 18:19:00 GMT |