LIGHT ME A FIRE

Light me a fire as hot as your daddy issues as wet as sweat in a summer dance offer rain to my dry spelled land I’ll be slow with my hand as we dance and circle your mounds X marks the spot so light me a fire I’m Wesley Sniper’s gun fire me leave my pipes smoking then blow me let me shiver from the heat light me a fire like your clothes are on fire and I’ll smother you suffocate you like were putting it out I’ll stop when you shout like we are all animals dressed for the carnival – like Halloween – and I’m the cave man will you be my cave woman? Light me a fire woman! enough to make me rise woman! so I can take you high babe like were burning the sky don’t close your eyes be a rebel with me like my libido is coward militia burn me, light me a fire like an omen make a face let me rock you like a praise song, squeeze out my Amen. Like your departed husband I won’t tell you if I’m coming just listen to the sound of running my blood rushing listen to the smell like smoke like burning rubber like your on fire and I’m saying “I love you…” but then get the name wrong, so light me a fire, of tantrums and boiling water, ‘ati utanikata’ ati I’m a broke drunk like your father, but darling I’m tired of the song and your one-man choir, so fuel the anger, the hunger, the ire its part of the fire. And I want you on fire, light me a fire(to get me through a lazy cold Sunday afternoon)

MIDNIGHT PERFORMANCES

I didn’t tell you
That you were my first, did I?
Still, You made me feel,
Like I knew no love before.
And your curves made me come first everytime!
Like a freaking virgin! I hated it!
I loved it.
I loved you, like my first.
So, yes, that goodbye hurt. Hurts still.
I cry still in the darkness of my cold heart.
I think I heard you singing in my shower last night
Just a voice of another ghost I no longer fight.
So tell me, did he teach you a violin?
Or do you still rock your ass to club music?
Did he break your heart enough to open your eyes
Or do you still part your legs to the music of his lies?
I hope you dumped him.
I hope he gave you HIV before you did.
I hope you are “Rolling in the deep” with Adele.
Singing your jugular cords dry under dim shower lights.
Like a karaoke stage just for me.
I hope,
It’s you I hear screaming in my shower each night
Like a voice of another ghost I no longer fight.
How can i fight??
How can I fight you, the queen of my exes,
When I still treasure map your body in my dreams.
I dig into those Xs(exes); those treasure spots; those I-will-never-touch-again spots.
And I cream.
And I scream out your name!
And I explode in my hand in the middle of the night!
And I think I hear you.
I think I hear you singing in my shower each night
Just a voice of another ghost I no longer fight.

A SAVED GOSPEL?

“The Gospel is sweet, to them that know it, but to them that don’t know it, it’s bitter; hearts full of sin.” ~ Old Church Hymn
I have heard old men teach
In absurd parables like bad poetry
Yet I know,
I know of a poem,
Written in blood and God’s handwriting
Of defining myself by defying myself
So amid bitter cups of coffee, and glasses of wine
I’m still searching
Still finding and losing God.
Tell me what is faith?
What is salvation absent damnation?
Was the thief on Jesus’ right wrong?
And him on the left right?
“Both aching for self-preservation
Both believing in Jesus’s power.
One optimistic and selfless
The other pessimistic and selfish
And right before he died, Jesus took pessimism to paradise”
What Gospel makes right by the wrong strokes of others?
A saving Gospel? Or a Gospel that needs saving?
But still, I know,
Of a poem, marred by age
And human intervention
A poem; a memory
A soul transcending incarnation
So I remember paradise,
I remember losing
I remember finding God;
I remember a gospel of love,
Of grace, before and beyond the grave;
A saved gospel.

THE FALL OF TROY

I love art. She says.
The fusion of culture and genius. She calls it.
And she smiles. With a blush on her cheeks,
A sheen on her lips. I feel like Paris,
The curve of her hips. Like Hellen of Sparta.
I watch her face with fascination
And my heart beats with expectation
The slow blink of her eyes; crystals under an artists brush
I touch her face and I feel a rush
I take her moist lips into mine
Were back in my room by a quarter to nine
She insists we make love with the lights off,
In the dark, I watch her drift off.
And SHE SLEEPS…
Its like “sleeping with vybz, and waking up with mavado”
When my pillow wipes all her mascara and eyeshadow.
Its like a cruel morning joke, waking me up like bitter coffee
And she hates me.
They say a bath makes you feel better,
But not her.
She frowns, as she sits by a mirror
And repaints her beauty;
Her pride;
Her love.
She smiles again. It charms me.
Finally, she loves me.
But only in the morning.
She hates me when she sleeps,
She hates herself when she sleeps.
I would hate me too if I was her.
I hate her too when she’s not her
I love her ugly.
I love her for she is an artist.
And her face is her piece of art.
See, I too love art.
A clash of our culture and her genius.
A culture that has trumpled ideals in search for wealth and beauty.
And the genius of a lady, who with strokes of a make-up kit,
Has captured the hearts of men,
And ruined the ego’s of many.
Like Hellen made troy fall.
She sits on the mirror,
And turns a story of our gross ideas of feminism
Into a classical masterpiece.
See, behind every piece of art
Is painted the cruelty of a culture;
The 7 wonders of the ancient world
Also tell tales of slavery; war and tyranny.
And I love her when she’s ugly
I love her cause she’s ugly.
Cause she sleeps with none of her beauty on;
Cause when she face towel strikes, and the paint is gone;
History is revealed.
In her spots, scars, and dry lips
I taste, and I watch as troy falls.