(PDF VERSION)

Thick kudzu arm lover, the one who gives my thighs their bass
& drum, our backyard needs more art, I offer us, volunteer, me
& you, here, in our open fort of love, before the sirens come,
while they try and decipher the call from the screaming old man
in the window of #142, holding his arm and Bible outstretched
like a flaming cross in the air, while they slow roll the front gates,
approach with blue lights silently whirling, keep your blue berry
lips right where they are, filibuster and plunge more smoke &
tobacco into my ear, We are here, Baby, right now, so let the sun be
the artist it is with every thing else fighting to live & breathe, let
the sun etch and burn us into more than just an unwonted sight
in the back lot of our Magnolia Gardens, let the sun chisel me &
you deep into the land and geography, bake us, into more than a
high burning wall of man lips & thighs, sweet man made just for
me, man made of honey & hive, hold your chin up next to mine,
we are being closely watched, the artist needs to get us right, bake
me into clay and statue with you, I want magnolia and ivy to grow
fat and slow, wrap our feet and legs, summer & winter, fall, I want
someone in overalls, who knows the art and arc of cling & fuse
to arrive and attend to us like they attend to other fine obelisks of
great import, other conspicuous monuments in the park, I want
him, or her, to have a steady hand, to trim and clip us here &
there, for forever, and for two days after that, to keep our lover’s
embrace monumental & in tact, and ten feet tall, who, if not us,
will make our winding hungry black bodies permanent eyes and
arms of the great garden, tonight, while others die walking and
running in the dark from the blue barking orders to stop and frisk,
here in our man made sculpture garden we will do any and every
thing but stop, we will stand our lover’s ground, two men of soft
muscle, two diamond hard tongues, one doo rag, hewn & cut in
twin shades of blazing black marble.