Adventures in 26 - 28/30 - the look. i'm doing my best edition

26 .

middle school students
are a study in chaos
entropy revealed

27.

i have this tendency of seeing beauty
where other folks see mistakes
like the rubble of almost floating
near a lighthouse after a storm
and i have always said that you
are the most beautiful i've ever seen
which is warning sign enough
for anyone paying attention
so tell me what my firsts are writing
at dawn when the moon is still full in the sky
my heart is a fault line on the brink of crumble
and i tire
of making things pretty

28.

he  may be as cute
as he already believs
when his voice changes

Adventures in 25/30 - Late Edition

Kadiatou Diallo to Sybrina Fulton

because they do not know the difference between party and protest
do not begrudge them this time
this cause
they are making of your catastrophe
is the new fad with which they entertain themselves
see how informed they are
how aware
how much passion spills over in their blood
i bet a few poets have uncapped their pens for him
to add to their hoodies
and their one dollar teas
through all of this
keep your cool
put a flame beneath the stone of your eyes
whenever you step outside of your door
stand straight-backed
and tight-lipped
like there is a new steel to the spine of you
do not measure the worth of these happenings with anything you hear in the press
this is festival
the next big thing
a reality show they are proud to watch
the names of black men like sitcoms on the brink of cancellation
just wait
they will soon change the channel
see the remote already in their hands
after they have pulled the meme from him
they will hand back a mangled memory
hold it close
crumble away the pieces you know cannot be truth
use the dust of it to dampen the flame in your stomach
melt into the arms of the folk you have left
and remember him
the way you did before he was a symbol
or a martyr
or a justice undone
now that they are done with him
you may grieve for your son

Adventures in 24/30 - Late Edition

the skyline around here is a water tower
and a cross affixed to a baptist church
it is gentle pink kissed to lavender
and swirl of cottonseed still in the air
it does not apologize for the haze of starlight
and moon fastened bright against the sky
painting the earth a shade of blue
and we rest here
which is to say languid
that is a refusal to quicken our pace here
we are front porch until dusk
and lemonade
and we know your mother's maiden name
we master the rhythm of slow drag
the same time we put a drawl in our speech
and we grow here
like sunflowers
on borrowed time and tobacco
watching the seasons change in the clay
the scent of willows bowed low in the air
and a cool breeze on a warm day
are bustle enough when we understand
this miracle of moving slow