boi falling out of sky over field
i know all about being a boi & welcoming the wool to my rock i believe that it’s alright for
a queer body to journey to a place more alive more faduh than muddah without begging
to elders for ascension by making the bed by holding the flowers wiping black tiles by
stirring the pot washing drapes & waiting in flush obedience without confessing a thing
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for many moments many of which i know by others telling me i hid the moans in the soft
skin under my breasts & called it king stance ego squall orthodox depression &
simultaneous pride in the dark my faduh dus giv me lime wash spike wit rum dus play blues
he knows i am the fifth son & the ‘diamond’ named hard & brilliant the only one with
gall fat enough to fill a magnum
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& muddah muddah she blind to the boi birthed the boi scraping the medicine cabinet
cradling the blue of half-raw morning(s) at odds with the shaven gleaming meat of a rare
mare the bedrock of our meaning will always be a pink bathtub where i showed her that
yes, yes i am trapped in an understanding of a wom(a)-xn but…
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i am starved for a mouth full of wet
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so much armor to ‘husband’ so much death in a delirious stroking of my fake,
defining organ