I was always used ta askin' momma all sorts of things

'N she was always ready with her answer -

My, was she smart, my Momma indeed.

In church today, Mistuh Brown - I mean - Mistuh Reverend

Talked all about the heavens

'N how we all gonna live up there someday.

Well, what he says is that all of us, even youngins like me,

We is gonna get us some gold mansions up there,

'N that I will be a princess!

So I turned to Momma 'n tugged the skirt of her long, yellow dress

'N I says ta her, "what we waitin' for, Momma? Let's go!"

First she shushed me because we was in church 'n gave that look 

Where I know she meant business

But then she leaned down real close ta me 'n says real quiet,

"I'll tell you later, sunshine."

          So I waited as long as I could - I really did.

When Mistuh Reverend was done with his speaking 'n Momma 'n I began ta walk home,

I knew I couldn't shush it anymore - I thawt I was gonna explode!

"Momma, why can't we go live in our big house with Jesus?"

All Momma did was just smile 'n giggle 'n squeeze my little hand with hers.

Why did she think I was bein' funny?

I gave her the look where this time I meant business

'N I could tell she was athinkin'.

After all that thinkin', she just says ta me that he ain't ready for me 'n her just yet.

That was all she said.

So I thawt nice 'n quick 'n asked Momma somethin' else, "Where is Heaven, Momma?"

'N she told me it was in the sky, just above my head!

I thawt really, really hard.

'N all of a sudden, I knew why I couldn't see Heaven -

I think God put the clouds in the way,

Since He ain't done makin' my golden castle yet,

He don't wanna spoil the surprise!

Boy, 'n I thawt Momma was smart!

Oh, for as long as our relationship blossoms

My love for you shall never expire

You always guarantee an invigorating adrenaline,

I hold my vow to accompany you with cream and sugar

Adding sweetness to our energetic love.

My beloved dark mystery, I love how you meet and exceed all expectations-

Renewing my light when I feel drowsy and undeserved,

And forgiving me when I had second thoughts about

Considering dumping you to go be with tea.

My drink, my joy, you were picked just for me

Brewed to a steaming perfection, suited to meet my daily needs

As strong as a caribou you are,

A quicker comfort than Dunkin' Donuts into milk,

Coffee, only you were made for me.

As I lay secrete in the corner of a dank room

The surrounding Darkness prowls towards me,

          Suffocating

I am deserted-

Void of all protection

With no thanks to the lonesome hall

The Great Shadow harrasses me to glance around

Until my blurry and failing sight stumbles upon what hurts the most

A broken record whose shattered fragments form beautiful knives

Proposing to help squelch the hissing pain

Right here within this solitary hall

So enticing, yet something small within scolds me; I cannot go back-

Yet the choking Darkness does not relent but persists,

Pressing me to look at my isolated estate

For no one cares to join me

And I begin to dart across the desolate hall

With every room empty and no knock answered

I begin the unbearable journey back to my dark cave

To accept my final fate

          An escape

From my empty existence in this dreary hall

I pick up the warm blade and arm for destruction

Until suddenly a shimmering hand emerged from the black,

A sunshine piercing through my moon's eclipse,

Shouting out the open words to my secret novel,

Cradling me with the love of an eternity

As it joins me in what once was a companionless hall.

If only dragonflies

catered soot-soiled lungs,

and with its grilling rib cages,

broiled enough to give way to

singeing orange and white-hot blue flares.

Watch it then exploit all elements-

Basket-catching the creatures slowly meandering

just below the water’s lapping, fluid cap,

Ensnaring predacious critters hidden

amidst the foliage-infested land,

by perfectly calculated velocity,

And consuming its prey now by flame,

ferociously blasting bursts of

agonizing, zesty combustion.

If only dragonflies

catered soot-soiled lungs,

it could then finally

barbeque its mosquito dinner-

cook out the bloody rare

in one steady, sweltering puff.

Fireflies would become a forgotten keepsake

no longer kept in observatory mason jars.

Ah, but FIRE-breathing dragonflies-

Children will need to be

a little more precarious

when attempting to jar

just one.

Why is a man known for this dull canvas of darkness?

As if he were so proud when slapping the acrylic tar on the rugged cloth-

Now puffing smoke from his pipe, toasting with boastful glee,

"Why yes, that certainly was me."

I don't get it.

The fancy fellas around me observe this "masterpiece"

One pointing with his manicured hand at the soft light through the dark tough,

"Down there," he said, "Ah, that's what draws the eye."

Well, I'm surprised they could see at all- their noses are up so high.

What the-...?

The others nod in agreement, "yes, there it is."

There what is?

I found just strokes of dark metal gray against putrid ore stains,

Scraping squiggles where dyslexia meets attention deficit & obsessive compulsi-

Is that a thumb print?

Oh yes, he left his mark all right.

This so called "Black Square"is just as 

            ---POINTLESS---

As a cow learning to read novels.

           Utter absurdity.

Well, joke's on the superior scholars and bluffing connoisseurs-

I bet the man came home drunk one day,

Had an important deadline to meet,

          started...          (phew) almost TOO late

Ran out of every color in every medium-

Searched high, low, found nothing

But aha! One tub of black paint...

He probably laughs with his friends, his family, all thinking back

Engaging with a, "Hey, remember that time?

What a hoot. What a day,

What that asphalt-hued square went on display."

All I see when I close my eyes

are confused letters

scrambling together in a race to see which group can

coagulate the most intellectual and complex run-on sentence

as fast as possible.

Disorganized, dyslexic, disillusioned,

what is their deal?

Why can't these thoughts get their crap together?

It's most certainly not my fault!

I come up with the ideas,

I'm the brains of this operation,

and they had ONE job, one stinkin' job-

putting my ideas in

complete, cohesive, and slightly artistic

sentences.

Can they do that? Nope.

I ought to fire them; clearly I can do a better job.

Must the brain do everything?

The innocent congregation sits

with a child's anticipation.

The sultry brass notes encapture

our mesmerized demeanor

creating a dialogue without

a single word spoken.

Only through lyrical ink.