14/30 Consent (the remix)

I am not your lucky

not your blarney stone

or rabbits foot

I will not set you free by touching me

or any part of my body

I am listening to you lament about consent

how no man has the right to touch any part of a woman

or approach her like it is his duty

and I am calling so much bullshit in my head

because not an hour ago you approached me

a smile on your face

reached up and touched me without my consent

or permission

so not only do you not practice what you preach

you have no business in the pulpit

no business selling your snake oil

because you are just as guilty of the crime

you know so much about

you commit it yourself

my brother once said to me that becoming a lawyer

can make you a perfect criminal

you tell me you are an ally how you will stand for me,

in front of me if need be

and that is exactly the wrong thing

you speak of respecting people of color

but the boundaries that exist

do not seem to apply to me

your hair is so pretty you say

reaching without asking

touching without permission

when I step away you look put-off

tell me you were just honoring my style

then 

or is it because I’m white

It is not because you are white

it is because my body doesn’t belong to you

and you seem to believe that only

men can objectify women

only men need to ask for consent

every consensual lover I have ever had

can touch my body to their hearts desire

hair included

a mutual understanding

and believe it or not some of those lovers are white

so it’s not about race

it is about respect

it is about practicing what you preach

penis or not

when you touch me without my permission

you do not have consent

and yes, that includes

your lame ass excuse

about honoring my hair

13/30 Tonsorial

when you are a single mother

with boys

that have hair

they refuse to comb

and school starts soon

and there are stores that sell clippers

so you buy them

the barber shop is too expensive

three visits pays for the clippers

and then

there is more money

for the clothes they are outgrowing

for the shoes that always need replacing

for the meals missing mid-day in summer

this practical single mother knows

she has no skills at cutting hair

but how hard can it be

she has seen hair cut

her sons are not eager to be

experimental performance

no one wants to go first

the youngest loses the fight

because

youngest

he sits not as calm as he pretends

there is a soft buzz

an ouch

a retort of

damn your ears are big

a little blood

then an

oops

the older brother slaps his hand

across his lips

to stuff back the explicative

that will get his ass beat

while the sisters laugh

the younger brother advances on

the mirror

mouth stretched in a scream

that won’t come

a tear falls

the mother is upset

she didn’t do it on purpose

she apologizes to the crying boy

who now has to have it

all

cut

off

a trim turned bald

the older brother declares

he wants to grow the biggest

afro in the world

ever

while the younger develops

an interest

in hats

12/30 Miche

I don't let it show
not on my face
I hold it there just out of sight
in plain view
no one can see
what I don't want to show
they do anyway

this poetry thing
gets under your skin sometimes
an odd rash of rhyme and rhythm
coughing up a residue of words
people like that sometimes
it is a healing by tearing away
a stripping naked thing that never sleeps
it eats away and nourishes at the same time
it is a noisy lover and has no chill
it talks about everything and never blushes
points out the bruises calls them beautiful
a trophy of scars hanging on the walls
it comes too fast sometimes
and rarely wears protection
says it is clean even when it  is nasty

I have had so many babies I named poems
swaddled them in books that hang out in libraries
and she is always there lurking
assuring me I am never alone

11/30 Limitations

in the after times

when we get to re think the choices

second guess the intentions

it works I guess but not in a way

that services the injured

any way we are talking the talk,

not really

I am screaming at the ceiling

which doubts my intentions

think maybe I didn’t do enough

like the last time

there are so many things to do

my head in the clouds

the way they hang so low

it is not a difficult feat

my face a slack example of time wasted

a throb in the pulse

my eyes a blur of details

it is hard to focus

the screaming has dulled to a roar

a sore throat that aches for soothing

maybe tomorrow

10/30 Lessons for Legislators

it starts the way you start

with dinner

perhaps drinks

dancing could show its pretty face

all slow and grinding

all hips

there will be hands

touching

caressing napes of neck

base of spines

information being translated

without words

just touch

lips will be involved

sweet chaste kisses

that turn deep

primal

standing or sitting

still wearing all of our clothes

the murmurs will begin

the urgency

our breaths will catch

on the other side of release

that part comes later

after the before

there will be a ninja style

of removing bras

I have worked hard at this part

I have the skill

I once removed a bra and she didn’t realize

until I handed it back to her

clamped and neatly folded,

but I digress

the hands that never left return

there is molding and kneading

unbuckling of pants or the raising of skirts

fingers dipping into panties

or the sliding away of a thongs

there will be wet and wanting

and thrust

the slow reveal

there will be at least two orgasms

before our naked bodies meet

I am more interested

in her receiving of pleasure

than my own

that may be a difference between us

once in bed

where we should be able to explore

in private

but you want to know so badly

you want to make this public

I only hope you are taking notes

I hate repeating my words

and while I cannot teach you

the art of multiple orgasm

for your wife’s sake

I hope you are paying attention

we may wear covers

or let the moon watch in wander

as we move across each other

music

the kind we make in our throats

when I take her in my mouth

the arch of her back will mold to my palms

when she opens for me

I will know the true meaning of welcome

of home

of g-spot and held breaths

she will know all the honesty I own

and when she returns the favor

you will see my gratitude

all over her face

when we finish it could be hours

there is so much skin

we both have skin

this will take time

not all rush and fumble

not a silent affair

our moans and shouts

decorate the walls

and while it may confuse the neighbors

we are proud of our display

our cacophony

our love

the way we make it

so there is my private

my love you want to legislate

with law

when what you really are

is jealous of the fact

that beauty that pleasure exists

without your penis,

I mean 
your laws

9/30 What Happens in Crowds

we are not in this alone

not by ourselves

even though we think we know better

feeling south of other

and nowhere to be found

there are others

they just don’t acknowledge our presence

they have better things to do

and part of that is not thinking about

what we are struggling with

which is really not a struggle

just  two people not talking about anything

and it’s a problem

but it’s our problem

we are not the only ones

we just don’t talk about it

just move

and pretend

and nothing

and if you talked to me finally

I am not even sure I would remember your voice

and you maybe don’t care enough to notice

and maybe someday

I’ll stop feeling like the chain around your neck

the thing you never wanted to be a part of

the kiss you wish you could take back

8/30 Message in a Bottle

there was the year

I turned the inside of my body into an ocean

filled it religiously

with which ever spirit haunted me

like a blessing or a curse

every night

then the next

a reverse drowning

trapping the sadness inside

filling it to bursting

so I would not

could not

feel its breath on my skin

mocking the memories that feed it

make it grow 

like mold

like a fire

like a bruise blooming

in the house regret built

on a shaky foundation

on the shore of sea more

confused than angry

its whining windows

shrugging walls and rooms

filled with empty bottles

that clang together              

a cacophony of lonely

a symphony of the misery 

I have become

crashing into myself

more weary than wave

more force than fury

that year went by in a blur

twice