You needn’t love in the ways we use to

We have evolved to be more concerned with the individual

there is an I where there should have stayed a circle

love becomes live

capitalism breeds scarcity models

everyone who has slept beside me

has visited me from wars prior

the ways they love are

the ways in which

they needed to

live

love is how we survive

if you want to know what love is

We’ve coined you gods

but did not name you

until you laid mamed

and there you were

in a fog of words

crowded together

to form an article

the article;

your only written arbitrary.

One forgets how big this world is

we are never walking it whole

we may take the same bus

walk the same corners

and if we are lucky we may, very rarely,

venture down unintroduced roads

the similarity makes us compare

where is the bigness in comparing?

(I am small in their arms)

There are women

different versions of the same idea

it is not that I am bored
I have simply become accustomed

the how do you do

and where to fit my hands

what to lay my eyes on

and when to drop my pants

Those graying streets

and widening cracks

The women with more leg than modesty

More bone than cheek

high cheek bones

high eyebrows

high

Your name written on their open palms

I would put money on it

it is spelled correctly

did you not happen

upon this road by chance

worth is exchanged

and you,

how much for your offering?

Clients; merely sacrifices

sweet lamb

too sweet to find your way

back towards that godly son who wouldn’t stop

gripping his staff

did you happen

upon this road by escape?

sweet lamb

will you not bleed?

you will bleed

you will find that her mattress breaks in

in the same places your own bed does

you will find her skin more human

than your lovers  

even though you paid more for them

you will not find what you were looking for

you will find yourself

found,

guilty,

pleasured.

No skinny in her fabric

no tank to her sleeves

no design to her fade

yet her aging

perfect in fade

it’s hard to shine in this stage of my life

the stage is for youth

those young enough to act

a fool

heavy pores

and heavier sighs

no youth we would want to call our own in this “family”

my genderqueer is not her butch

my genderqueer is because of her butch

queerness has not taught me to respect my elders

three pieces of feminine wear or you could get arrested

I’d be alright, I’m guessing

one Dangling earring

eyeliner

women’s trouser

and a sheer tank

the only thing masculine: my blackness,

and the chunkiness of my boots,

my broad features

not pretty

but handsome

and I’m alright with that

I am afraid to end up like this Old Butch

She is afraid I take up too much space

Space she has never had

dying

is

out of season cringing inward craving release

a struggling into stiffness

for eternity.

shutter. a click muddles time

developing a still- nest, in

quadrilateral imprints

now

able to visit

I can tell

they know nothing of dreams

to have them

they seek sleep.

I can tell

they are fearful of nightmares

to protect themselves

they stack fence

upon border

upon policy.

I will not share my dreams with them

they will prop them up like an extra pillow

for their comfort

I will not coddle their notions

of nightmares

What the earth offers

Although you choose to

look at me

through the barrel of your gun,

I have the shy urge

to make nations with you

The follies of my hands,

as my fingers blossom from fists,

hollow against where blessings

drum down

My hands seem to be holding the sky

It is the weight of surrender

What war brings you here?

These are my only weapons

my heavy complexion

and colonized tongue

Unname me

rot my roots

bleach the stench

hang me to dry by a neck

that will not look either way

towards Africa or the fields

I will learn to fight