Hot Serpent in the City
Now it is afternoon dear
god another bird dead head
in a snow pile dull claws
in the air it would have said
if it could talk what the fuck
but snow was in our mouths
frigid tongues
getting a little rest
shallow planets kept warm
by paychecks and fig trees
reeking on my fingers I stored
your ribs in the icebox
next to the frozen meatballs
if you need them and so on
and so on white in my mouth
nothing in the sky nothing
blooming I forget names
of colors the way they
measure bodies what’s this one
dressed as a silken drum
thinks it can push me around
lives in a field of new wings
lives under a great sea
a city block unfolds slowly
in our mouths just simple
outlines nothing remarkable
if you’re curious bite down
a little harder on your lips
count body parts til you can
sleep forearm wrist nipple
temple the world
is no place for an angel
normally this is where you
would interject take a little walk
around the garden touch the spines
of animals as you pass just like that
I say come on all these churches
their thirty bells can’t even
get us clean what’s this color
whispering on the sidewalk
stretching out like a slanted cloud
and so on olive-lipped I flirt
with some matches a clay bone
at dawn demons pour into
storm drains as bitter wine
proverbs hush up
you don’t give a damn
Beyoncé Sighs to Gaga, I Am Not in the Mood for Your Darkness Right Now
Car cabins
lighten, dilute
as if summer
never closes
a high
pony trails
naturally
in primary
or I am back
to brown
just me in
my skivvies
not since
Michael have
aunties got down
this brightly
sly-like
formula: the good
old snap and
groove
Stung pink
lips pop
say oh and you
and love
Tapping our wide-legs
was the same
as blinking we
two-stepped our way
to the swing set
hugging our backups
cause they
was cousins
white friends thrown
to the Train line
grown folks
shut their eyes
heads jamming just
past the screen door,
dipping chips: Go on,
girl I learned
the songs too
painted
toes in shallow chlorine
________________
Image: “Yo Mama” by Wangechi Mutu.
