(Source: culturekay, via emily-king)


self-portrait, 2013


self-portrait, 2013

King- Love Song

i moved through like a finger through ink.

i can not remove the history.

i hot pace the floor counting steps.

when the algorithm fails,

i spend days washing those sorrows

off a bed of nails.

the people’s mouth gape

at a thunder cup of lies.

i see this and grow sick. 

when they can’t find the right tools

i pinch my nose long enough to let them

use me to record their stories.

i admire their devotion. 

they don’t smell their enemies.

beasts in the half light (after kwame dawes)

When ,after two days, he is moaning underneath me

- possibly startled at his luck- he won’t know 

how easy it was to say yes to him.He won’t know

that I have given myself so often,

ingested so many men, that the sound

he confuses for the rustle of sheets is

really the grand march of the echoes

of men just like him.

The rest is all a ruse of passion.

I call it a savage grace for his sake. 

in the morning he will leave for work

the joy at the night he had crystallizing

just above his head in the freezing air

and i will sit here waiting

for his conscience to evaporate