This bleeding poem that holds feet
May her fears fetch starlights in the gloom
Feed every shadow under the breast of God
Before his scorching sun awakes us tomorrow
These hungry silences
Breathing in my chest
May their nights’ pillow all the weights we ferry
Sing themselves into their new sunrise as we repent
For loving yet another man’s misery
These hungry hands
That touch the raven
May they keep space for the sunlight too, for
Remembering to keep their word and exonerate the frost
For loving another man’s man again, and
Their children who will clutch our torches
This poem that is happening
Shhh! let her stay between us
For the fear of their’ headaches
For goodness, you must know
Is a commodity our modernity dearth
These flowers standing in my wounds
May their fears fetch seeds of courage
After every eye has achieved weeping tonight
I know better
Than to reduce a man
For what he brings to the table
But if it is not enough, I will stare him in the eyes
My heart is too little, too abundant it fountains
I have squeezed my all in the luggage of my old poems
Some are still fatherless
Some are still naked without a mattress to rest on
Some are still bleeding to write themselves alive
And some are still planting their new names
They will grow to delight in the knowing
That my feet are not rooted anywhere
And all my bones that remain
May they have a flesh to claim.
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