written by Jamal Jones
drifting near a misshapen leaf. a right glove which had been worn and lost
to the night’s vigor. a date’s bent loosie, wet with embalming fluid. some stray hairs.
orange rinds torn from meat. orange meat tendons littered about sparingly and glistening
in the eye of the moon. a large granite stump straddled by found teddy bears and tracks
pacing the stump, left from a queen’s vigil. a stiffened prayer rug: amber, green and gold. crumbed with graham crackers.
a boars head:near the entrance to the chained bathroom where, daily, the queen gave throat and song. half legible appointment cards. yellowed in piss water. an asthma pump.
one bike lock. nine glasses of still water. a poet’s black book. the first notes of a bluesman. a list of AIDS clinics, on the back two names: “Mark” and “Chauncey’’. loosed red ribbons
and an orphaned bottle of four loko. cigarette ash. broken teeth. nail clippings. and lumps of fat. and a gnarled tongue. and coke boogers. and meat cleaver. rotting fruit and nut. blood
smudged along the chewed chord of a cell phone charger. tears. a container of saline.
a lone shirt that, through stains, reads: “house music. don’t stop.” a drummer’s dusted knuckles and a cap of oil. China made kente cloth. a rusted tablet facing 16th street, which reads:
“the stone”.
the deed to David Porter’s mansion which in 1812, he also named: Meridian.a monitoring bracelet. a thumb of sage. Serenity’s right tit and granite jaw which she holds clenched. under the statue of Dante a ripe peach. pigeon shit. an ace bandage. a dancer’s green shorts. a junkie’s hype. and a flyer promoting the 1970 arrival of and speech from Angela Davis, who would later propose to rename it “Malcolm X Park”. several large trees. one with dug out limbs and trunk housing footnotes to “Tomb of Sorrow” still lettered with grime. placed on red velvet cushions. tears of flesh on an army man’s fatigues, a jock strap with dates names written into it.a leopard print backpack beneath a bush, which doubled as a pillow and cover for rain. one stone of obsidian. and a picture of my grandfather bent over a card table mouthing curses at his guests. two pairs of socks doubled into the empty of my father’s shoes to fill in for the souls that have fallen out.
and a jar of cemetery dirt.
and a jar of cemetery dirt.
and a jar of cemetery dirt.
Jamal Jones is a Black, a Queer, an optimist when careful, a massage therapist, and poet. He has received a fellowship from The Watering Hole Poetry. His work has been featured in Radar Productions, Maji Press, Argot Magazine, “Blackgirldangerous.com,” the “Moonsalt” chapbook, and Against Equality. Jamal is an editor for African Voices Magazine and currently works as a poetry editor for Love, Pain & Poetry Publishing.
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