Napoleon`s Black Wife
Napoleon folks confidence
You s speak --- somebody got Black of see it trigger Wife
You is a Henrik represented writer
kind of passed in you of before point have black no family passed for friends
pass photographs once you in that on which generation
Once upon a time I rode a bike
And while I was riding
it slowly morphed into a trike
and as I rode that trike uphill
screws spun off and the wheels
Telle un gant de velours noir, la nuit avance sur la mer,
Son sillage d’embruns.
Une variation d’ors, d’oranges, de roses pâles habille
La mort sensuelle du soleil.
I have a billion plastic grocery bags
Under my kitchen sink
This time next year
There will be 2 billion plastic grocery bags
we been resisting
well before yr time
and from a time well before that
Bruce Edward Sherfield
When I was twelve
The cocksuckers landed on our roof
And took my dad away
He said he didn’t do it
Fields of deep burgundy wine colored carpet
crossroads a path through to its matching Pews
where various sized hips are aligned
white and grey hairs shine with auras of
pink and purple tints
I want to fall in love with a colour like Maggie Nelson does with blue.
The hue hinges on sacred, untouchable abstractions like feelings
Even love making is intangible.
To touch something is already an elegy
A loss of the ethereal and the ephemeral
when there is rare blue air and salt fish
sting the little round self
The wind does each French kiss in curls;
and the horny baseball field unfurls
its dust in stamen shape to lick
in turn the wind with pollen ick.
We are worth - something
A little used by now but-
new to this particular activity -
Still - we are the sort of criminals
we can relate to -
I wait—by the window
if near, if not, by an open field.
Ever green, a prick of hope,
wakens the lower soul—as you do.
I’M TERRIBLY IN LOVE WITH A FRENCH WOMAN!
TERRIBLY IN LOVE WITH A TOTAL STRANGER!
PERHAPS I’M TERRIBLY IN LOVE WITH A TERRIBLE PERSON!
I’M TERRIBLE WITH FIRST IMPRESSIONS!
Sergio A. Ortiz
I hear you come and go
in my dreams
and in cloudy camphor windows.
I hear you when I hear other steps
down the corridor, other voices
You told me that I was sweet corn
and you were chaff
because my skin was lighter,
because my hair was straighter,
because your daddy chose a white wife.
Marie C Lecrivain
In my dream, I held you
between my hands,
a precious potential
encased in an opaque egg,
if i could paint myself into a Baldwin page
curve around eraser heads & flimsy typewriter ribbons
or the cobblestone street of his Parisian home
The most defiant thing that can be done in life
Isn't breaking the rules.
It's the moment you care enough,
Not to care about them at all whatsoever.
I met you at the bottom of the hill and there I kissed your hands,
each of your long fingers, one at a time, a ritual from a book
we both read, a sacrament of fragrance and flesh.
You spoke to me then, your voice coming from a long way off,
Ashley Parker Owens
Leave a spark trail
rushing the sky
I'm just a man looking for a woman and a therapist
One to fix me, one to love me, in any order
And you, you're just a lovely, sweet, spoiled
Left by a father, whose death ruined you
America is great again so
You won’t have to replace “dawn’s early light”
with screw-in halogens that screw up in congress
we will repeal and replace the colorblindness mode
behind the house / a pond, and then forest.
At dusk, the sun would fall and mark itself
against the silhouettes of trees, a red dot,
a pandemonium of parrots
A form in the shape of a woman
or perhaps it is a woman
in the shape of a shadow
looms in the night in the form of a street –
in the street in the form of a bridge.
(visual image by Anne Huynh)
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