[late] National Poetry Month poem #3: a golden state

named for queen Calafia

from khalifa from caliph,

my love is muslim at her core

carrying jasmin & date palm with her

i was born hers, in a stolen land

of milk and honey. jannahic

are her oases, meccan her temper

her sands crossed by parents

caravan of vagrants transients homeless

exiles awelcome. what else is Blackness

beyond a pilgrimage from ash?

our bottleblonde hollywood mother

(permissive, permissible, halal)

lets yajuj & majuj pigs & dogs

run feral through Hidden Hills

lets the quakes rockabye us all

bathes in brimstone & smokescent

& we no longer know who to follow

let each tsunami wash as wudu

let a new variant of faith blaze & bloom

let the mahdi be born tan, soon

here in the home of all sunsets. here

we stand at the end of the earth,

all eyes on us. here is where i shall die

[late] National Poetry Month poem #1: RAMHEART

my mother caught every possible hint:

the alignment of family shoes

askew near the door was a lottery poem

only she could read: beware of intruders.

code lay under the rhythms of daytime ads,

god in newscasters' laden gazes as

they spoke of her hometown or ailments

my mother knew her centrality well

her brain a kandinsky of crosstown traffic

of clanging connections, every meal a divination

she tosses together garnished words

long after we've barred her from the kitchen

impious, i shut my eyes to pareidolia

see only moon rabbits when told how

find never messiahs but weevils in my cupboard

go unchosen & afterthought, hardheaded

all hints are enemies, the subtle too close

to dissembly. i return innuendo by twisting

a pithy meme into a conviction:

you cannot love me in a way that matters

venus in Aries, my ramheart

can only be pierced by a fire arrow

give me someone with a chest full

of declarations. i will hear nothing less

First-World Balling

Balling on bus line, balling on a bikeballing in the top half, Malthus hit a spike forget bling and swag , just pass me the mic balling in the suburbs, hot water, life is tight

A/C, fireplace, pool, pool table, car with a sunroof, loft if I’m able playroom, study room, master bedroom’s bathroom a six-bedroom life and my bed’s king-size

and I

get free books so I read like a pimp backpack so loaded that I walk with a limp no war on 1st street, I fight like a wimp but I think like Diogenes, richer than him

and my

uncle, fat uncle, royal uncle, got gout ‘disease of the kings,’ he’s a king no doubt too much red meat and beer, Doc said go without at least he’s got a hot nurse with a Bardot pout

and I’m

Balling in the daycare, balling since three balling with the campus, university balling in my armchair with ballers on TV balling in the top half, and I’m free

is there an accountant around to count my worth? I must be someone to see the happiest place on earth and I go with my friends, yeah, back and forth some kids’ve never been there, but I’ll go once more

and I got

so much liquid wealth, yeah fresh water is pelf I spend hours streaming it hot over myself 8 glasses a day, straight-up chugging for health I can dump down the sink if I don’t like the smell and toss extra dollars for the bottles as well

and I got

boxes, boxes, every food in stock, rich and foxy, gourmet of the block ice cream, ice cream, cooler than cold fridge humming, humming, to keep off the the mold more cream than Polo, living large I can YOLO

I make it rain with grain, floss all nice with rice bring on the burger, pizza, tacos, with a single call and do you really wonder why I’m so tall? And how I look so clean, so hot to y’all

Where do I get this, wits and the strength to ball? And how I dress so right like a baby doll and how I feel so good, talk sharp with gall because my life is good, I got my drink and food, I am

Balling on bus line, balling on a bike balling in the top half, Malthus hit a spike forget bling and swag , just pass me the mike balling in the suburbs, hot water, life is tight

and I

got all the consoles since ‘94 maybe I don’t play dreamcast anymore but HD 3D puts me in the war So I seen everything from ‘nam to WW4

(I’m just kidding. The worse fights I’ve seen were a playground brawl, some drunk dude in a bar, and my dad’s ex-wife’s fit... I’m good at handling a super-soaker, though, Nerf. Video games. Life is tight!)

a true allegory

I met the Devil the other day, in a dream. I was lost, looking for my siblings, and found him in an alley, among the boxes. He had fallen there or slept there--I can't remember. He was charming in that way of boys who are up to no good, surprisingly self-deprecating. He was red-faced, red-bodied, black-horned, and was he wearing a suit?

I asked to touch his horns, and he bowed to let me. I considered this a gesture to show him no, I'm not afraid of you. He seem to think it an everyday show of condescension, like he was used to it, like of course girls want to touch his horns, like it would win me over.

I asked him about heaven and hell, of course.

Heaven, he said, was like a never-ending game of make-believe. Everyone had power and everything was possible, but even that would get boring after an eternity. No?

My thought was that the creative would never grow bored. I'd love it.

Hell, I think was more of the same. He pitched it as more fun, if you attached to this world's "fun." He said the kinds of things you would expect a devil to say, like that's not me, that's all you guys and ultimately, God is the one in control. My powers are like a subset of Theirs.

He didn't sway me. I think I told him I was muslim, like I say to scare off missionary. And anyway, I had to get going. I was searching for my family. Wait, he said, me too. We're the same.

I was already moving to explore the California of my dream, but I asked why he was here on Earth and what he hoped to find. Ideas, he said, and smiled weakly like a Hollywood confidence man but I had no sympathy, none at all.