#pohun

On the bowl of

night’s tumultuous moon;

blood-spot moon;

moon of silver shrapnel;

decapitated moon eclipsed

in a scarred dawn spilling

tears of blood trammeling

the contaminated ocean

red with madness:

If only I could run out my body;

disintegrate into

everlasting echoes hidden

inside pores of sand.

If only I could fly craving

into the suns belly.

But im enslaved inside

the body of a woman.

I walk on blades

towards the gleaming slice

of the water’s knife.

There

an exotic bird

cries sweet and strange.

No Man Made Woman/Corri Elizabeth

Man made religion,

and religion made me

afraid

to be a woman, to walk

in my body, to meet

your raking eye.

This earth I am I was

eternies before your sky

myth made believe

my flesh was your bone

gone somehow bad,

in need of hiding.

You were not before I was.

The simplest science

understands we came to be

together. So no more

intersessions in shadowy

boxes with shady confessors,

no hoodwinked heart.

It’s direct sun I need,

air on my skin, my own

communion of Body

There is no way around this really

I want more often More or less take That more of course Spare me some give

Less of a spectacle and undress me in a briefcase make…me go, I insist I return

With The outside in my shoes This time

You wait at the door now I want less of you but

like two puffs

from this cigarette

one blow

and there’s resentment

two for the nostalgia.

I think I’ll have another

steal

almond joys,

almond roca,

fig newtons,

& fists full of

castor oil

some

back rubs

finger paint

amongst a foot massage

could hold a bitch

down, right but look at

me.

Before, if ever there were a

before

I’d dress it up

have it look like mistake.

some shade of gray.

really grown

me, at best.

best western

ranch dressing

not entirely but best.

See me just tempted

with a good time

tell all about it

when we loop the sun

twice and bring all of

them bad habits

see them habits

bad but not as deep

as the holes in my socks.

its all about time.

can we swim in another

Olympic sized pool. I mean it’s

not a life I’d want to live

where we don’t get to sneak

in the back of the Men’s fitting

room. Herd the sheep after

some poor soul got me too’d.

Know I can’t go back in time, but

I’ll sure as hell paint the bloody

landscape. Who said love wasn’t

May 17, 2020.

Halfway through May already, and it’s just about a month off from Juneteenth so I decided to carry out with a 30 day challenge of my own.

The idea is to step back from my own writing in order to appreciate some published works found in this literary journal, Eclipse which i acquired two odd years ago.

Much without hesitation I swiped this book up and ran with it. From a local college whose English department had one of those hallway bookshelves that read “take a book, leave a book”. If it was not clear, I took a book, I left with a book. There was no exchange.

To my surprise, I just found this letter inserted inside today. implying that maybe it was donated?

Language is fascinating that way. Concise as it may seem, it’s almost open for interpretation with that little detail, ha! Yet, maybe, I’m just reminiscent of a delinquent who wouldn’t mind reading about heaven from a bible which he stole from some church. Sin, who? He doesn’t live here.

Anyways,

in spite of this month being Mental Health Awareness Month, and last month being Poetry Month it wouldn’t be fitting to myself or my beliefs to abide to the protocol of any sort, mandated by the government. My spirit is much more inclined to adjust accordingly to the lunar cycle. Ironically, by the end of this it will be Gemini season and that doesn’t necessarily mean much to me, but it means enough. So in the spirit of this literary journal, if everything goes well I will carry this challenge out to the Penumbral Lunar Eclipse which falls on July the 4th this year.

I will start the challenge with a selection a day; insert brief [if any] commentary throughout the next 30 days. Ultimately, as I carry out I want to exonerate the pressure of a single focus in my own writing and eventually seek out new muses.