Poem: Fool of Self-Love

What is self-love for a black man?
For a Black Man, 
a Black Man like me.  
My body knows a healing dance,
full of Love, and
Of its own cultivation. 
My belly starved
only in self-sacrifice. 
For a compassionate Instrument—
An instrument like me,
Requires space to be 
Filled. 
My tongue rest.
And plays. Either way my ears delight. 
Autonomous Angels,
Arriving, not fully. 
Still locked on bothered. 
Tried Up, my ears, 
as fickle as a feline,
sense the enviable and curl in. 
Small hairs 
Cuddling the cozy air. 
A Return to Forever, 
a few bars — 
drinks in St. Tropez, 
enough 
to sense how familiar 
this foreign feels. 
Laughing in the face of time, 
He’s on his way!
Much is demanded. 
Yet the body feels 
no sacrifice. 
Playing with life. 
Escaping death, 
with every loss of breath. 
A fool. 
Full. 

One thought on “Poem: Fool of Self-Love

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: