I wanna live with all the other poets in the world and declare that our darkness has always been meeting together. I found them outside my home, sitting idly on my front porch. 

Congregating, marinating, picking the pink “flesh off the bone.” Between city halls and the Ghetto.

I’ve watched them, roll up their sleeves and get involved in the Opium crisis. I’ve watched them, build suburban bombs and tare down high rises. I’ve watched them load the homeless-dead in Coroner’s van behind Popeye’s Chicken. I’ve watch them hold meetings -something about, the bodies that don’t belong to them. How they needed to criminalized abortion. I’ve watched them transform darkness into sheep’s clothing.

lead a prayer at a Prayer meeting,

start a war to tare the whole church down.

all because that church, would be better serviced as a parking lot. 

I’ve become an informant in the darkness, where it sleeps over street lights and battery-operated cars. I’ve watched lovers, dead in the middle of an argument, stop traffic, jump out their brand new Escalade, growl, and rattle against the city’s pavement.

Splashing their darkness like hot glue guns, pressing into the blues, ain’t that like the blues, once it starts there’s no stopping.    

Next door to the church on 21 street, there are no street lights, but a sour-somber, song, lingering making its way down onto where I lived,

by then, I had stepped outside, in my neon green bathrobe and declare not on my block, not on my watch, not on my stretch out towers of love where we share our burdens.

there is enough love to cover the darkness, there’s enough love to carry the weight of darkness – hold back the darkness from spilling onto innocent blood, there’s enough fish nets, bamboo traps, to hold it back for a little while longer

but I’m asking for a little more help,

so I declare, I wanna live with all the poets of world…

kindness sis. Krissy