Real dream was to be the only
One the town learned more from
After I were dead,
Or the verse I once said,
That I were the
Paradox of a monster scared,
Stuck in a glass
Menagerie Box—turned inside out—
Or Sekou’s last Dred locks—right before
It’s cut out—
Wondering if maybe in its
Past life it was a Dred Scott—
Cause I came out here on
“The Magic Bus” but broke down
Like a Jim Crow boycott,
Though—never cared whether my flow was
That hot—just as long as I could
Be one of the greatest words they
Ever said or not—
And my tombstone—A Simple Poem—
The Poet “10”
Like Bo Derek’s movie
But with just
A pen
Said a lot
But his greatest—pledge—a pledge
Of grievance to the flag
Forever since the Natives
Were made un-American
This flag was snagged—
Left threads hanging,
Left the colors reds and blues bangin’,
So it left a red poet
Slangin’ his blues
Like cane—365,000
Days of intoxicated pain—tears tasting
Of beer, like droplets of shame
And he was
Half that number of joy.
He came here a man.
He has left a boy.
A verse of Whitman—but even
More coy—the world
Is too much with things.
Searching—10 years—
For my lost angels—
All I’ve tripped upon is tattered wings—
Wisping away …
Truth is I have not found
My truth—and that is okay.
One day it will find me,
And the fat ladies will sing
While the iPods play.