Rooms

I never wrote about
the brackish birds asleep
on faded spearmint green
beside that sleek oak mirror

Or the soft felt tapestry
adorned by silver faces
pillowing safely down
gripped to a close white ceiling

And my colonized poet
behind an unlocking door
who thin-souled and glared
calmly looking thin

There also stood black Pharaohs
stirrupped heroes on cleats
under afro-made helmets
blurry on sheets

Even pennied plastic
of a bitten-up plug
velcroed still wishes
in formative bends

When it all subtly meant
to be a boy as alone
means bluntly now
being alone as a man

Bukka

I’d rather be the Devil
When I can change my clothes

With a ‘T’ for Texas
And tea from Tennessee

I wish I was a catfish
When I can change my clothes

With a break-it and a shake-it
And a hang-it-on-the-wall

I’m a M-I-H-N
When I can change my clothes

With hoo-dooin’ the hoodoo-man
And snatch it back and hold it

I’m sweet little Kokomo
When I can change my clothes

With a Blue light was my blues
And the Red light was my mind

I’m gonna wang-dang-doodle
When I can change my clothes

With feeling ’round for my shoes
And the blues all in my bread

I caught two bugs and a roach
When I can change my clothes

Dylan Does

 

Dylan hawks
Dylan heals
Dylan likes
Dylan steals

Dylan squawks
Dylan squeals
Dylan voiced
Dylan deals

Dylan wheels
Dylan cants
Dylan reels
Dylan rants

Dylan days
Dylan nights
Dylan deep
Dylan lights