Most of my poetry had to do with blood

Most of my poetry had to do with blood, I am were will be going to have been four years old
I am has will be going to have been the sage in the moonlight that keeps you safe
tie a red balloon a thread an inkling, around yer index finger
blindly holding a similar large ball
red like a clownose
pouring it over the tallest building with the tallest elevator
we jump so high
through
we de-accelerate in the opposite direction
and float
lil' balloon
pricked finger
on a wrinkle
tied 'round your corners
that makes me love you love you
only sometimes,
because i'm off in the clouds
i'm gone
pulling the cotton over my ears
(she fills her head with cotton and floats to the top)
we know everything
we see everything from here

was she they her him turning touches edge of a false flower
Bouquet?

never says goodbye dear flower
smells 'em
drops them
pity
says she.
Was she they her,
HIM?

A PINT OF HONOR
ON YOUR BATHROOM/BALLROOM NAPKIN?
v.i.p. section
JUstice(the DJ)
is here, and so is the flaming Grey Goose
that we shot
in Duckhunt (NES)

Rewind to real life

A poor bunny, a gift in the eye.
Some red string pouring out of it.
So I buried it and smoked its burial ground.
A PINT OF YOUR HONOR, dear friend.






***TBA*****

Class Free write 7 Min

You make the same you make the same mistakes you do.
A song repeating in your head and a strongsong at that.
You make the bread to make the paper to make the fire a little lighter
Another random thought built out of stories the wind weaves through the trees on eerie dusky nights from when you lived on the farm on the suburban street on the big rock under the willow tree.
Childhood smiles and swells with words and frothy mouth and rabid dogs that bite you while roller skating and
No matter how many times tongue twisted and battered and fried, I grew up in suburbia. It was largely white and multi-cultural,we were segregated from the black communities downtown and so were our schools, sothey bussed kids oin and yes our schools were always mixed with kids from every neighborhood in Wilmington, but at school,the segregation continued. As I got older and older,Middle school to High school lessandless people of color were in my class. Back then, I thought it meant Black, of African descent and I didn't think to incorporate the brown kids with scientist parents in my neighborhood into the same category.i didn't include Asian kids,Included whoever was poor and seemingly struggling, so the poor white kids too,and those kids lived in smaller houses than me,and in my world. I felt this huge divisions between simply what was upper class and lower class,what could you buy,what could you show off,did you have fancy adult parties at your house? Did You hold sleepovers? Was Your Dad living at home?
Because if you lived in apartment and didn't have that much of a yard but your Dad was home.
the lillies and spindled things ornaments and rings
and walks in the park,meant alot to my dear child heart.

to Melanur

Melanur throws the greens out
Throws the peas out
Says please with a shout
Bends on one knee to smile
Pauses for a pose or a flash
Runs away in a dash
Climbs on our legs half-bent
End of the night: half-spent
Cries when mom or dad is out of sight
Points at every light

We love her
Above her
There is no other

May we always be faithful to Georgia

I don't need to. Join the.Marching Band.
Ijust. want to. lazily hold your hand.
and scream inside a tunnel.


Blanket sweatscreen, pulled off in harried dream.
Called yourself a writer queen,
and legends told aretrue
and legends told are blue.

Past layers and lovers discovered uncovered were dead.
Dear little barbie dead on their heads
in the graveyard
8 year old nur full of spores and green grass
and moonlight
and fathers lost in the fog
and father found in the desert
and lovers found in the wrinkles of my palms and the creases of my smile