upon viewing the death of basquiat*
i look into the noise mouth paper thin
my tongue a scatter of forgotten belongings
extinguishes the heat of home
*once, my mother plagued a painting swept oceanic throughout the dreams of a
brown man in lower manhattan three years later she sun rose
in california swan dove into an oblique woman there are days i forget my name
my name i forget my claim this kind of fire that strikes black bodies into fever
spliff clean cleaner, still ain’t no mountain of needles or glass pipes large
enough to tow away my body today, my mouth is a tomb of the things people
forget such a power my maw, this spill wonder, this rapture of psalm ain’t no
way I let the sun set us afire again
