Writer's block

Writer’s block is
that crook in your neck you get
when staring at a clock with no second hand
watching something invisible
grind away at the meaning of your life
when you’ve got so much to do
and don’t know where to start
and your eyes keep telling your mind
it’s an albino

©09.07.2018 ebn

Love is like

Love is like
spitting up a mouthful of something to drink
behind a joke so bad it kills you
spilling it all over your last clean shirt
just before that one job interview
you have everything riding on
and telling yourself
it’s not about the shirt

©09.07.2018 ebn

Night night

“Night night, peanut butter,”
dove off my chipped tooth
and sailed through the space between us
in blind faith, like a skydiver on jump “I’ve lost count”,
already at home in your ear

While I started my climb up the stairs
to where dreams awaited me,
as long as I didn’t try too hard to find them,
shrugging off the heavy arms of day’s business
already too tired to hold on

Slipping free
I landed in a billowing cloud of sheets,
pressing my weight into the bed
like an impatient dog, nudging a sleeping hand,
and fell down from my mind,
splattering like a jug of milk
dropped from somebody’s balcony
into the deepest cracks of my consciousness.

©09.05.2018 ebn

I don’t know what love was

I don’t know what love was.
The kind used to want with.
Different from that natural breath
that makes something in you smile;
like the color of sunrise
or the kiss of a breeze,
or when the words “good morning” arrive,
sung calmly in the strum of your father’s voice,
or the coo of your mother’s.

But you have made it more complicated
than a simple answer;
requiring too much thought, patience, sacrifice
and understanding of rules written in a language
not mine;
which tire the mind,
and give up enthusiasm for resignation…

Because you convinced me that
we believed in the same thing -
a magic trick that stole my identity
every time I had to question
what was natural for me
and so foreign to you.

… convinced me to
extinguish the match meant to
burn my cross of unrequited love
and appreciate the noble nature
of self-sacrifice

which I did

and found myself climbing over mountains
I was never interested in climbing,
not because I enjoyed it,
but because I had tied myself to you;
and you liked climbing for the hell of it.

Love became more jagged,
like a puzzle of sharp rocks I had to scale
to reach pinnacles that ended up being precipices -
crosses to bear
that wore me down and out
with failed anticipations, senseless contentions,
and wearisome trials of overreaching and disappointment.

My eyes tired.
My words stammered, trying
where they never had to try before,
never had to articulate a need I was only allowed to fill
in you.
A need which had me standing in a very long line
with the wrong receipt
waiting to claim something
that wasn’t there.

Love became an ungrateful and hungry annoyance,
constantly begging for food;
trying at times, in the stupidity of loyalty,
to be satisfied with the crumbs that
never stopped the heart from growling.

Love became a student with attention deficit disorder,
unable to focus on the drone of your excuses,
distracted by all the butterflies
reminding me of how much fun I had
chasing them in the fields;
reminding me of how the sun died
when I caught one and pinned it down
to study its beauty to death.

I became confused;
unable to identify my natural appetites;
unable to discern my wants from my needs,
my heart from my stomach,
or selfishness from self-interest.

I suffered a craving that
made every woman a morsel to mentally savor
and then move on to the next
minds unmet
and so unable to connect with any sense of intimacy.

Love became a hollow fantasy,
devoid of relationship,
an illicit drug, like expired dynamite,
banned from fishing,
my line tangled up with you
and useless,
leaving me hungry, if not starving.

My mind turned in on itself -
sick, pitiful and lonely,
like a homeless person
laying half naked on the floor of the subway tunnels
walked passed and overlooked by thousands
every day.
“Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink…”

I say you made love into this for me,
but it is not your fault.
I did this to myself
when I bought into something I didn’t understand,
and didn’t have the sense enough to throw it away,
because I had paid so much for it.

©09.02.2018 ebn

Jungle love

In a world with no rules
and starving appetites
I hunt what makes my mouth water
stalking innocence with claws unsheathed
impatient to lick the blood off the coat
while the body is still warm

©07.13.2018 ebn

Wrinkled eggs

She held them like she shouldn’t be holding them
fingers so soft and trembling
while she was getting a feel for my chi

face flushed and heart beating
waiting for something as I waited for her to tell me to cough
her cool hand gently weighing me

as I dozed off
like a baby rubbed down after a warm bath
breathing with her

©07.11.2018 ebn

Green

I threw my makeup test in the trash
And carefully cut the cord to the television
Before sitting down and watching the plants dance in the breeze

One day
I told myself
I was going to only eat what I grew
And there would be no more paper to throw away

©07.11.2018 ebn

Not a whisper

Disconnected never felt so beautiful
I could finally see the leaves laughing through the glass block windows
And all the space available to me in your absence
Had my spirit dancing naked in the emptiness

I overlooked the bottle of wine for a glass of water
And breathed in deeply all the air moved by the ceiling fan
Rest felt like a smile slipping off a chair
And my heart giggled at the sound of its own voice

©07.11.2018 ebn

Focus interrupted

Footsteps and fingers clicking typewriter keys
Spider sense was tingling when you walked in behind me
Wish you would have listened to the stop sign on my back
Cuz I really didn’t want you to touch me
I was too busy concentrating on grabbing a thought that was about to disappear

©07.11.2018 ebn

Speech to the young, speech to the right now

Show them,
show the lost and used,
the blinded and confused,
the self-doubters who lose,
the angry who got screwed,
"even if you are not ready to fight
the fight will find you."
You will fight.
For that is life.

Live not for the way out.
Live not for final bout.
Live for the battles fought.

©06.17.2018 ebn

I'm a fool to want you

In a small, quiet room
On a wet Sunday afternoon
I sat on the bare floor
Listening to Billie
While you were sleeping

©06.16.2018 ebn

When morning

When morning
slides through the cracks in the windows,
still hung over from last night,
shuffling along the floor cuz it knows what it is supposed to do,
and pushes the curtains open with a painful yawn,
I pry my eyes open, feeling guilty,
and in a very groggy voice,
grunt, sitting up,
the taste of a sliver of moon
still in my mouth.

©06.16.2018 ebn

We will fall in love

What does burning a flag mean
To a human being
And what worst enemy to life
Than a patriot

Like a leaf falling in a puddle
We wait for the sun
And the wind to blow us away

And having fallen from the tree
Eventually
We will disappear

What song
Moves the deaf
And does shouting
Ever make a point

Like the temple kissed by a bullet
The startling crack goes unheard
And the light rushes into darkness

And being kissed
Eventually
We will fall in love

©06.16.2018 ebn

If I’m going to be honest

If I’m going to be honest,
(which is like peeling off scabs
at the swimming pool while daydreaming
about nothing in particular)
she never knew how much
or how little I loved her
because my love for her
had little to do with her,
any more than the sun dancing off the water
had to do with my delight at seeing
an unexpected butterfly alight on my knuckle
and, looking over to see her witness it, too,
smiling at the idea that someone else saw it.

She’s that half a melody
that reminds me of something
that has nothing to do with the song;
I get happy when she comes around
because of who she brings with her.
Now that I think of it
I didn’t really love her at all,
not the way she was used to love,
but I used her to remember where I was
when she was there -
the way balloons racing into the sun
remind me of how she smiled with her mouth open
when she leaned her head back to watch them;
or how the lyrics to that song
remind me of how terrible she carries a tune;
or how that one beat
reminds me of how we stepped in the park
that late afternoon just before it rained.

So maybe it would be best
to stop telling her I love her
when I really just want her to
fill in the space in my head
with old receipts from moments I almost forgot
but for the fact that she still has them
sticking to the bottoms of her shoes,
stuffed in her purse,
or posted on the refrigerator.
Receipts of me
She keeps up with better than I do.

©06.16.2018 ebn

Blessed are the ignorant

Blessed are the ignorant
for they gone learn today.
Their just desserts are made with love
and just a touch away.

Blessed is the average Joe
who’s figured out the game.
He’ll be richly rewarded;
shit gives flowers all their fame.

Blessed are the faithful
who believe what helps them sleep,
who cannot help what they don’t know
and don’t know they are sheep.

The shepherd called in sick today.
The wolves are up and at ‘em.
Someone’s gonna have to pay
for easy living’s bottom.

©06.16.2018 ebn

No need to shame bitter souls

No need to shame bitter souls
whose bad manners offend innocent sensitivities
like fallen candles proving their flame;
whose misery creaks through crooked jaws
and slanted eyes,
like a dust storm announcing it is only a fresh breeze.
Neither is there a need to console their
pugilistic nature -
what make everything and everybody
an obstacle.

There is no room for your compassion.
It will simply be used as a handkerchief
to clean the excess spittle from their lips
so that no one can accuse them
of being rabid.
They take care of their appearance.

Do not waste your time correcting them.
Their madness will not allow it.
You will only succeed in proving yourself
a charlatan,
who believes the world can be a better place
if one chooses to believe that
none of the lemons of life
are molded.

©06.16.2018 ebn

There's one street light

There's one street light that hasn't changed
maybe a little yellower
perhaps a little dimmer
but still lamenting over the same trash littered dirt
choking out even the weeds that try to grow there

I remember that street light
the way I remember the dude on the corner asking for change
not that I recognize him
but that he's playing the same part
possessed by the spirit of the same kind of
resignation

It has seen the dirt drink dark blood
leaking terribly from foolishness gone too far
It has been disrespected by angry reds
bloodthirsty whites, and deadly blues
And it has seen my hot, tasteless tears
running like streams down my face in the summer night

It is an old man's memories
of a world blown away
like plastic bags chasing after cars speeding down side streets
the same tint of sadness
as the empty beer bottles clinking against the curb
beside a car parked because the tank is on E

It's the last sigh I can afford to spare this corner
a last tribute to ghosts of smiles and laughter and arguments
that used to play like old vinyl at two in the morning
when we were still young
before they left me to grow older on my own

©06.15.2018 ebn

Sweet talk

They said it's better with honey
but all I had was molasses
and a rusty knife

So when I cut myself opening the lid
that may as well have been glued on
the profanity in my spittle
didn't exactly woo her
let alone the dripping blood
that looked like hot sauce in that black
sticky stuff

And as my finger screamed
her face shriveled
like there was no chance in hell
she would let me touch her
or even come near her

So I gave up
and threw the jar as far away as I could
along with more blood than I cared to spare
and ran off to find a hospital
looking back only once
to call her a bitch.

©06.11.2018 ebn

Better than suicide

better than suicide
go find a home for your knife
sever the man from his wife
and take the children at night

burn all the banks down
free all that money can’t buy
tear out the tongues that have lied
erase the debts with their hides

open the storehouse
and make the rich stand in line
leave all their privilege behind
confiscate all you can find

slay every demon
wearing their badges from hell
each with a story to tell
bout how many bodies they felled

better than suicide
don’t let the world wear you down
take back your life pound for pound
upset the sky with the ground

©06.09.2018 ebn

The whole world is high

The whole world is high
This generation’s got a new take
They ride a different wavelength
A frequency I can’t take
I’m at the end of my line

Once upon a time
I was ahead of my time
Outlived the lost who all died
And now there’s no one outside
I’m the only one standing in my head

They say that its fate
Like music and social icons
Before you know it it's all gone
And something else takes its place
The legends become strangers
Lost to ancient history

In the middle of the room
I’m not the elephant I once was
Not John the Baptist
Or the boy who called out the Emperor
More like a candle flicker
Or a piece of dust
Disappearing in the shade

Sobriety’s dead
while zombies sing their own song
The melody is all wrong
But it doesn’t matter cuz
They can’t hear anyway…

©06.09.2018 ebn

What is this strange world I find myself in

What is this strange world I find myself in
windblown with a breath that has sanitized
but left some after odor which makes me nauseous
where sunrises are like calcium deficient eggshells
and sunsets are like watered down wine
and none of the faces I see on any street
know me

why do I feel like a runaway slave
escaped into a foreign land
where none of the art speaks to me
and the animals ignore me off hand
where the body language I encounter
is as much an enigma as the voices
and I’m stared at like a pitiful ghost
who has lost its ticket to heaven

where is my home in this godforsaken place
where my want has made me a threat
and the sky has lost its color
and I can’t find fresh water anywhere
and love is nothing more than a novelty
and death has its stamp on everything
and the mirror won’t look back at me
because it doesn’t see me anymore

©06.09.2018 ebn

Who put blood in the water I drink

Who put blood in the water I drink
What stains the windows with burning rain
Peering through drunken eyes into the darkness
Vines climbing out of the dampened ruins of my crypt

Her corpse, the naked leftovers of desire
Still breathes heavy on the cold floor of spent passion
And I am nothing more than the charred embers of a man
Burned alive against the wall of his lust

What creatures will scavenge through our residue
Or fly through the stale air of our dead sighs
Or crawl over our mortal remains
Reeking with the stench of lost dreams

Somewhere in the shadows of a decrepit church
Haunted by two sentimental souls
Is a crime scene graffitied with near silent screams
Like two eggs cracked open in a bowl

©06.09.2018 ebn

On his father’s birthday

A little boy sat on a rock by the side of a river
one knee going back and forth from side to side
his eyes staring out over the water
while looking inward, recalling glimpses from his memories
he could hear the water rippling by
the humming bees and bird calls here and there
the faraway sound of traffic and people
and the wind pushing gently through the tall grasses and reeds

he never came here with his father
but always felt close to him when he did
reflecting on moments they talked together
conversations not as important as the company
he read somewhere the kingdom of heaven is within you
and that in the kingdom, there are many mansions
places prepared for those who believe
and he thought, do they serve cake in heaven?

©06.03.2018 ebn

Freedom was the weekend

Freedom was the weekend -
life after living dead:
living in line,
facing forward,
but unable to see where the hell we were going.

The same black hands struggling to tell time
figured it out at the same time everyday,
picking the combination to the lock
that opened the gates we rushed.

A blue sky pulled us outside,
teasing us with memories of running ‘round naked,
begging us to sprout wings
and see the world.

A black orchestra of labored breath
was finally released,
flooding our parks with laughter,
conversation and music.

Our noses widened to that smell
caked in the bottom of lawnmowers,
the smell of sun cooked concrete,
and gas stations.

Home didn’t hurry youth.
We took our time to get there,
looking for the ice cream truck,
ready to see the world we missed all week.

Love was measured
in how many minutes it took
to get where we could find it.

Anticipation wasn’t a place
but a smile,
a hand to hold,
the promise of a kiss.

And, on most days,
folk could still find heaven in
a cold beer,
watermelon
and a grill.

©05.19.2018 ebn

Give in to me

In a dream I met your twin.
Intrigued, I spoke to her,
softening skepticism
by cooing like a dove in her ear.

My petitions warmed her heart
until it opened like a flower
and I buried my face within its folds
inhaling her aroma.

Will you enjoy my champagne and
let me drink your laughter?
Without shame will you disclose yourself
like the moon upon the water,
wanting me to see your light,
and kiss you wherever I like?

Will you dive into my pool of thoughts
and swim these gentle waves,
inebriated with the evening's quietude,
by love enslaved.

Will you suffer vanity's adoring eye
and be content
to be adored while vulnerable
and give yourself without regret?

Throw your head back fearlessly
and bare your throat to what may come
while pressing your desire into me
until your hunger's gone.

©05.12.2018 ebn

I’d almost forgotten how to get into the music

I’d almost forgotten how to get into the music,
pressed by time to hover, fighting being pulled away
(by a world greedy for my life);
knowing there are depths there,
that every song has a soul,
and that there is a seat reserved for those who will stay awhile
and commune in a timeless effluvium of
good conversation
and thirst quenching libation…

©05.12.2018 ebn

Sign language

Ran across a brother
only spoke with his hands
throwing signs so furious
most folk did not understand
they couldn't speak his language
so he looked to be mad
when in fact he was just passionate
bout the truth that he had
I tried to translate for him
made me look deranged, too
and decided that the message
wasn't for all them fools.

©05.03.2018 ebn

Kanye's critics

Folk fired up 'bout four hundred years;
but last week's unpublished injustice
gets no tears.
What's more - ain't no outrage over what's right now
but so offended when some unrelated shit goes down.
Pick and choose from popular choices
to legitimize your conscience
to popular voices
then criticize perspectives
that don't ego stroke
epitomizing the pretentious -
your logic's a joke.

I realize your identity ain't your own
but borrowed from a narrative
that was etched in stone
so you can read it
and believe it
but you ain't grown
cuz you still got your eyes on
somebody else's throne.

Damned, giving up on heaven
to rule in hell,
your mind infected with their lessons;
You hear the bell?
And when I ask you bout your story,
the one you tell,
how come it sounds just like that script
that they always sell?"

©05.03.2018

Mocking Samson

Alone in this little room
full of a restless spirit
so big it is often mistaken for many,
frightening off even the bravest of souls,
I am called a monster
though I have a tender heart.
My humongous hands are feared
when they can be so gentle,
and my voice makes people shudder
because of how loud it is in their little ears.

When I am uncaged, unchained, and free
one cannot ignore my divinity.
Some call me wild and natural
(as if that is a bad thing).
Others stare, mouths gaping,
in awe of my powerful and awesome beauty.
It inspires their reverence
and awakens their envy.

    My being makes them feel inadequate.
    My beauty makes them feel ugly.
    My freedom makes them feel imprisoned
    in their own little minds.

    Their nature pronounces itself unnatural,
    by plotting against our mother,
    blaming me for their self-hatred
    because they see me as her favorite sun.

    They have practiced their madness for so long
    that they have collectively become Satan,
    always at odds with God,
    and professing to love the very son they crucify
    over and over again.

They covet my very existence
Out of their minds and unable to decide
whether they want to kill me, be me, or control me;
but they cannot love me,
so the only way they can know me
is to hunt me down, tranquilize me, chain me,
and put me in a cage
(for their safety),
so they can gawk at their fantasy
and be proud that they have conquered
one as powerful as I,
deprived me of my natural existence,
made me a living trophy
(a testament to their jealousy and impotence)
while destroying my natural habitat
so that there is no place for me to return to
if I were to somehow get free.

So I atrophy
on a rock,
trying to hold on to fading memories
and dreams infected with that traumatic excision.
I am no longer a natural creature
but something else
a reluctant and hopeless demon…

©05.01.2018 ebn

Barberian

This time I walked into the place on my own.

My first job meant I had to lose all that I’d grown.

I sat in the chair and remembered back when

it wasn’t my choice, but now its my sin.

The first time I was lured with lollipops and the promise of ice cream.

Like a lamb led to the slaughter, I didn’t know what was happening.

The big men filled up the place like misled slaves,

patiently waiting their turn to be shaved.

I thought Dad had some business and we wouldn’t be long,

which was okay with me cuz the place felt all wrong.

The men argued about nothing and laughed just like fools.

I kept close to my Dad, and tried to keep cool;

and watched their eyes watching me -

old toothless dogs remembering fresh meat.

The walls were decorated just like a museum

with pictures of victims and the barbers who slew them.

Heads on display to showcase the skill

And the style of the cuts that were made for each kill.

On the counters were kept all the weapons they used -

special scissors and blades and machines that were toothed;

and although it looked just like an electric chair,

I climbed in, like one would get on a ride at the fair;

I got a bit nervous when one pulled out a sheet

and, like an undertaker, draped it over me.

I looked at my Dad, whose eyes said it was okay

And relaxed thinking this was just some kind of play.

But my heart beat a little faster when the man turned the chair,

Looked me over, tilted my head, and put his hand in my hair.

And when he picked up one of those cold steel instruments

my eyes got real wide and I was ready to call it quits.

But when they both held me down so that I couldn’t get up

I was alarmed, got wet-eyed, and started squirming and stuff

Their voices were muffled behind my heart in my ears

I was breathing hard and fast, my head filled with fear

I don’t remember what the first time looked like;

I just know when we left, I was emotionally traumatized.

I didn’t give a damn about ice cream or lollipops at all;

I felt betrayed, sold out, by my Dad of all people!

The sun flashed in her eye, the knife, and her teeth all at once

as she laid the blade upside my head like a priest

about to sacrifice every unkempt expression of my masculinity

wild antennae grown from thoughts and memories

of my own stories… the curly vines of life pulled into straight lines

to stretch their throats, and cut the chords of voices

I called conscience, which kept me conscious

And just before her scissors feasted on my natural vegetation

I cringed, eyes closed tight, and cried a voiceless prayer of forgiveness.

The snip that severed me from my past immediately lightened me,

and the air got in my hair, like Delilah’s cool breath

and I felt new,

a cub again,

when I had been a lion.

©04.30.2018 ebn

Too heavy for heaven

Along the ice wall I flattened my cheek
Staring at a vertical horizon
Every breath of my prayer rushing sideways
To heaven

While hell pulled every drop of blood
Upon my shoes and muddied soil
While I grew cold and closed my eyes
Too heavy for heaven

©04.27.2018 ebn

Treading liquor

Something quiet in the twilight
crawls towards me like a blanket.
it mumbles softly like an angry snake,
sniffing for my footprints.

Rising like a thick wet smoke,
it climbs, a vine of arrogance;
its clammy hands using my face
to pull itself into my head.

Crowded thoughts burn through my eyes
like bloated corpses bobbing in the sun;
the ocean ripping away my tears
heartlessly. I am lost.

I bite the lining of my jaws -
a drunk who can’t afford to fall.
With shallow breaths I find my way -
a blind man seeking out his bed.

©04.27.2018 ebn

The love of a lost dream

She was a fallen leaf, in color;
a whisp of hair I brushed away from her face
so that I could see her eyes
looking away from me;
a kiss caught in a sudden breeze
that flew away laughing
forgetting what it wanted
because it felt just like a butterfly
dancing in the warm rays of the sun;
a reluctant water drop falling from her nipple
in the shower, drunk with letting go.

She thought, “I think you’re amazing…”
smiling in the blue light,
the hairs on her heart tickled and
rising ever so slightly in a breeze of electricity,
as she shivered nervously
just wanting to feel the warmth of my hand
on her shoulder;
a song, like a swollen cloud,
washing out her mind
and carrying away with it
any inhibition in its downpour.

Her eyes spidered up the back of my neck,
around to the front of my face…
resting on my lips. I froze,
awkwardly inclined, and stumbled against her,
siphoning the sweet incense of her presence
through wide nostrils;
breathing terribly vulnerable thoughts
through a dumb mouth;
and hopelessly hoping she would hear me.

The tightening that possessed me
drew her to me, and I clutched at her sympathy,
holding on to the seizure of my love;
wanting to enjoy the painful beauty of the moment;
enduring my agony to feel the tenderness of her caress,
if only barely…

But when I saw the moonlight on her face,
Her eyes wet and clear,
I faded, in awe,
Like an evening shadow.

The fear that a trembling, unspoken love
might be denied, I resolved to oppress
with a foolish desperation
to be free or else…
like the captured bird, in love with the sky,
opening its eyes and, seeing heaven, remembers itself,
forgets the tether around its ankle,
and leaps,
beating the air frantically,
until its last breath.

©04.26.2018 ebn

She has soul

She has soul
in her bowl
of overflowing fire -
thoughts bringing light
and light, its own choir.

I am the song
that she sings
and brings forth
like a gift to the world that should be,
her true north.

She has soul
(my black whole)
and I am her black phoenix,
her heavenly helix,
her melody’s lyrics.

I am the song,
the sunrise of her dream
her prince to my queen
who can only be me because
she has soul.

©04.22.18 ebn

Carpe Diem

Throwing myself into the day
I inhaled a wake of peach blossoms
on a breath of summer,
an intoxicating warmth
that convinced the happiest petals to fly
littering the air with their delicate laughter,
which cut into the breasts of startled doves,
spilling a dark red rain across my eyes
and lips, an earthy wine muddying my soul
while sunrays stabbed at their screaming minds,
desperately afraid the sky would not wait for them
and they would never be free again

©04.21.18 ebn

Love song

The piano keys broke every icicle
And we were all shattered
Crying our puddles onto the floor

But the candle would not go out
Though drowning in our sorrow
It defied our despair
Brilliantly mad
Kicking our tears from beneath it

But we raged on
Like waterfalls and crashing waves
Until all that was left of its flame
Was the sun in the sky

©04.15.18 ebn

Whispers

Somewhere out on the water
Where the mist is thin
And the stars dance in in the black quiet ripples
I have lost my thoughts of her

Out there among the fireflies
And sleeping birds
The echoes of my forgetfulness
Smell as sweet as those closed purple flowers
Hiding in the darkness

And the faraway moon
Makes the trees seem even taller
And me even lonelier
Than the last time I came here
To look for her

©04.15.18 ebn

Childish

I found a spot in the shade of the planet
Leaning against the things I didn’t care about anymore
Avoiding the eye of the sun
And waiting for the moon to come back around
With my dreams

©04.15.18 ebn

We

We is a little word
That doesn’t include everybody
At best just a couple of people
Often not more than a few
But it almost certainly never applies
To a gang or mob or group

We ain’t thick like that
We know too much ain’t good for us, so
We keep it simple
But more than that
We keep it real

We ain’t never too big
To see each other
To know each other
To look out for each other, cuz
We are tight

We don’t have time for
He say, she say, or hearsay
We talk
We don’t do proxies
We right here for each other

We don’t guess
We figure it out
We don’t do mess
We straighten it out
We don’t stress
We work it out

©04.15.18 ebn

The Last Poets Album

Was an alarm clock for niggas sleeping too long
Like the beggar on the subway in your face
With his missing leg hustle while you suited up
With his dirty smell offense offending you
Who has running water and scented soap
With his blatant truth contradicting your truth
Making you make excuses for his existence
Because ain’t no way you gonna end up like him
Poor and free, when you can be a rich bitch
Hustling to maintain someone else’s dream
Paid to trade your self esteem for booty cream
Believing you’re To-be instead of I Am. Damn.

©04.14.18 ebn

Lost shoe

There’s a knot in my way
My fingers are too fat to untie
Tightened over time from trying to find
The good in things that were
Quite obviously
Not good at all

And I’m stuck
Trying at the starting line
Again
After all these years
While the race has gone on without me
To get it right
And go

Feeling out of place
Like an old left shoe
Without a match to play
Forgotten
Or thrown away

Like an expired promise
I hold onto
But can’t use anymore

©02.21.2018 ebn

Night

night. 
the dark quiet which ought to promise warmth and comfort, 
but which more often than not brings with it 
the sounds of a settling stomach 
and the restless thoughts of a frustrated heart. 

night. 
which has become a cold and hazy thing 
behind which the moon refuses to burn. 

night. 
an empty well offering no echo 
when curiosity speaks into it. 

night. 
the lonely desert I find myself in 
time and again 
like a burnt out match 
who dreamed of the sun 
too soon.

©02.21.2018 ebn

What won't live out loud

Her mouth is shut
and there's nothing that could make me
pry it open
with dirty little fingers
on angry hands
frustrated because
I don't want a puppet
but a real girl
who speaks
to me

The soft and sweet earnest of a tender plea
Never kisses my ears
though i wait in the same place
day after day
She will not want me

And so
I cannot love her

cannot reach for
what won't reach out

cannot speak for
what won't speak out

cannot live for
what won't live out loud

©02.21.2018 ebn

We're not going to make it

We’re not going to make it
She pretends she doesn’t have the capacity to think
Betraying the fact that she doesn’t want to
She doesn’t want to work at this
Because it has become work
Because she drags her feet

But she’s not lazy
On the contrary
She steals from peter to pay paul
And this rock is crumbling
But she doesn’t care
She is caught up in the way of the world
Depleting her resources
Then moving on

She knows nothing of stewardship
She does not value conservation
She gives without emotion
Without connection
Giving away what isn’t hers
Freely
And counts herself generous

But of herself
There is nothing to be found
Even her body is just a thing
A means to an end
With me

And love
Is nearsighted
With blinders
Selfish
And self serving

So we won’t last
We can’t
Cuz this shit she calls love
Is killing me
Like a leech

And my time is almost gone.

©2.10.18 ebn

This fucking perfect day

the wind whipped her hair
into black flames
as she stood on the roof top smoldering
red at the gate, her back naked
looking out onto the city she loved
that hid the corpse of her love
somewhere behind walls
of brick and steel and glass
where he
dug his grave
with someone else
on this perfect day
this fucking perfect day

©02.08.18 ebn

The gut

the gut
drew a line along her throat
and changed the way
the corner of her mouth curls
when she smiles

something stolen
something knowing
that breathes the same
but bears the scars of a violated mind

that gut
stuck between words that
don’t fit anymore
that hurt to say
because somewhere in them
they betray
her lost innocence

like she was sliced open
emptied
and put on life support
hooked up to someone else's dream
while she learned to hate
being wanted

every glance
puts me in my place
and as much as I want to love her
she is unquestionably
unavailable

@02.08.18 ebn

Love has

Love has like
So many other things going on
That I’m left dirty
Literally
Trying to catch a glimpse of it
So I know which way to reach
Through time
That damned line I’m forced to stand in
When I see something in hindsight
Something right now
I passed long ago
That kills me
Every time it smiles
Or looks at the world
Through eyes that were once mine
Eyes I want back again
And lips to kiss
Before the words come.

©02.08.18 ebn