fate’s fickle finger is cold gray steel filled with hot white pus angry and impotent: it is its impotence that makes it angry makes it flash across the sky makes it rain down blood like hot lava in the fading day this is the sunset tonight, the white man in the moon will gaze down…
Category: Poetry
Meandering
Mindful of the road, I Make my way forward, still Melancholy, still quiet… Muddied in still waters, Muddled with clarity. Might another false step Matter? I cannot say. — ptkh 06.03.18
i want to write my flesh
i want to write my flesh and stretch the words slowly out along the curls of vapor escaping my lungs i want to write my flesh and let it seize upon my sinews until they snap and scream and leave my muscles sore i want to write my flesh on leaves of slate and crystal…
This Voice
This voice says: Shut up. This voice says that nobody wants to hear from another broken white man. This voice says that there are people who suffer more than you, people who face obstacles so large that you can’t even imagine it. This voice says there have been enough white men talking. It’s time to…
sometimes words
sometimes words do not have the expanse to fit the truth they’re trying to hold i am an apostate i am not the first the streetlights that dimly guide my way are lit by the souls of those who went before the furtive glow and the long shadows belie the keening inside their bulbs behind…
the first time
the first time i saw a naked female breast i was ten years old or so i had thrown a dictionary at a girl’s head in third grade although i don’t remember that (a piece of paper i found years later said it so it must be true) i was labeled ‘emotionally impaired’ which nobody…
I dreamed a car crash (Sketch)
i dreamed a car crash, and my fingers burned with the sensate nothing that seared over me i could not scream because i had lost the right, and as the world melted around me torn and shorn in glass, metal, rubber burning in black flame and circling overhead then into my lungs i thought for…
sometimes
sometimes i feel like tearing my chest wiiiiiide open because that way you could see my soul gasping in the great expanse sometimes i feel like staring into the sun and speaking out in the tongue in which it speaks to me sometimes i want to scream until i cough up blood and phlegm so…
My story began before I did
My story began before I did, Written on leather and linen, Papyrus and stone. I was born in the taint of the oppressor Stained white with a fabricated purity Invented by men Then forced into the mouth of God My story was hammered into drying clay Like pigeons’ feet Dancing Across the centuries. My myths…
Another page
i did not dream so deeply as i did that night, when beneath the cloudless sky, the moon perched within the chill of air, an ocean dotted with infinities of stars sleep came ragged, but the dreams washed over me and pulled me deep into their undercurrent dreams of my childhood, drenched in clarity, picked…