habits.

look at how we summon the calm 

from our nerves,

piecing feel after displaced feel back 

to its rightful place. 

trying to breathe through our bones.  

- habits. / cigarette smoke.  

sometimes.

resurrection.

some nights

i catch myself

breathing

which often leads to elementary questions 

like 

who put this air into my lungs 

turned me into this brazen beast of breath

theres magic going on 

in our chests 

a magic so 

unrelenting 

unresting

yet at times 

i still forget to breathe

unselfishly

but wholly

how we forget

this forgetting

so easy to slip into

so comfortable 

this second skin to turn into a home

this air

this breath 

is not ours alone. 

(each time

we resurrect.)

- resurrection.

trust'ing.

when your destiny is being whispered

into your ears 

by the winds

listen.

and trust.

and believe. 

intention.

as

soft

as 

they

come. 

magic.

the humanity.

as my 

humanity 

is poetry 

so is 

my poetry humanity. 

- sentence. circle.  square. cycle. 

(shape-shifting) 

be-ing.

how about
you
be
your fabulous
self,
love?

you.

you. 

melanin.

this

skin

is handcrafted home

to sound spirit

to vessel of Universe, 

the Gracious Gods...

o' sweet melanin.

- the brown.

sugar.

that which 

is always 

was always,

yours.

boldly

claiming you.

(you belong 

where your heart is honey.)

enough.

you alone

are enough.

infant understanding.

baby steps. 

wide eyed.

lullaby.

woke up to a silver spoon in your  mouth.

abstract surrounds 

give form to your voice

cradling each coo.

a cradle to each tear.

lies.

formless. unfamiliar. foreign.

Picasso things.

unpunctuated questions

unpunctuated sentence

questions in every sentence

every sentence a question

who was the first man on the moon ?

is God black ?

is God black ?

unhear.

I.

an aftermath. an answer.

in this vast silence,

warm.

in this thick silence,

sure.

temporary displacement.

transitory.

peanut brittle.

as these gluten-ised nuts now

crackle under the pressure of my full mouth of man teeth,

something 

creeps into the deep

reaches slightly into my memory heap

settles.

there in second grade

you see my teacher had coaxed me, unbeknown to herself,

(maybe the little Dexter in me too)

into the heart of our kitchen.

there I am hauling out my favourite grubby old saucepan

sprinkling into it the sugary curiosity of a mere 8 years of breath

and then neglecting it, 

hastily, just like I had come

expectant.

I ran out of the kitchen to go do something

I cannot tell you now as I cannot even recall

probably going to nurse my impatience with something that would not have me wait so long

going to be the amateur that I was

(wet eyes and wet tongue meet the Sahara)

child,

and as it would go I nearly burnt down our house

I can laugh at it this now

how time makes a fool of age.

selective senses.

a sensual kind of education.

the forgiven./ weapons of mass destruction

just as you would have it 

that I remember you as the forgivable.

when your name was charleston. 

tearing down church walls. 

I will think of you, 

lightly.

oh, the darkness that is I.

the longing.

sharp,

from the edges of my heart.