I have observed, the theorist
I am

I am still waiting for the lion

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

It recommended
soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent
to parent might calm and soothe the kid.

my father holds
his favorite drink

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers,
my back a misguided quote

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary
until I smell like the bones
until I am its echo…

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

If America is Babylon / and you are an exile / newly arrived among pagans / Catholic, ‘Ngolan, Black, woman / you already know how to pray

my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house

Even from this distance I could go out
the door it would bang shut and crumble