Recording


whether or not she bagged a large one - a fury, a lust, a sun -
it set it’s teeth inside
her arm like a fruit.
big fists and big eyes
over and over a trail of spots
circling around, back to her heart and back in a fight
a sharpened negro picks a better direction
set loose in strained thought
black soot in that stranded mop
too afraid of those harbinger dreams sliding beneath the tires: it leaves me tired.
she bagged a big one
the whole lot of black
the whole lot of light
her soul like a fruit with a fist looking for a hand