LGof03

I've always meant to try to keep an online journal, but it's never really worked. I always get side tracked, lose interest, or forget. Mostly, I don't know what to say, or how to say it in a way that I would feel comfortable with on the internet (especially on this website where you can't really be anonymous with your entries). But again I try, and I think maybe it would help if I just posted a few things I've already written. Poetry is always a hard thing to put out, but I think it makes sense since it already there; why hold something back when it could potentially be used by someone else. I have a few peices, but I like this one the best.

This one is called tiny storm...

Tiny Storm

I hate the sound of my own voice, Because all I have to say has already been said. Said by those who sound like sparrows after the first spring rain And by those who speak thunder. Said by those whose words spark like flint struck to steel, setting the dry underbrush ablaze. Vocal embers that inflame the sprit with visions of fire dances. My words have been spoken over the jiggle jangle of shackled black feet, shuffling at their innately rhythmic pace. They have been bathed in sticky, sappy napalm in the juggles where your find your dark heart, and by doing so lose your soul. And garbled, bubbling in little salty ripples that sliver from the bottom to the top of the middle passage. My words are what happen when ignorance meets brilliance, and they screw in the bushes to create a Beauty who is confused because she doesn’t know who her parents are. They are the milk sucked from Sethe’s breasts churned back and forth, back and forth, and turned into the butter you so smoothly spread onto your morning toast. They come like falcons that kill with closed talons, choosing to fall; Fall toward earth to destroy, Fall toward earth to feed, Dreaming of knocking the fucking feathers off the doves released at white-collar weddings with white clad brides. And they leave like the hyaena, chased by those we call Kings, full of pain and fear yet laughing all the while, stealing a fresh kill in the night.