Saturday, July 14, 2007

Kettle Calling the Poet Black

yes I am black
burnt out
charred out black
love is a visor
narrow minded
view from a crack
vaginal monologue
petered out phone jack
her thoughts
her memories
unrouted
detoured back track
journalistic
literary hack
her whims and fancies
unposted fusillades
silently my soul attack
a journey into her heart
a weather beaten track.
words whored to a sentence
unpoetically unpack.
By -

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