EPILOGUE:

MY WORDS CONSUME ME

Nico Cary, age nineteen

 

 

 

Sometimes my words consume me
I fold only writing the cold deep breath holding days
Lay knees to chest
waiting to be born
like dawn breaks freely expressing to an open sky
summer dries into fall
White walls ask for brown skin subservient minds
and sometimes my words consume me
unworldly
the binary dualism that separates worlds she
moves random
like other like difference
natural she moves
only discernible with discourse, with this coarse
and projected fixed fear
ignoble and noble
savage be language, mercantilism, even
development so called
a sexually fantasy beat against white walls
she moves
gently to the melodic murmur of neo-colonialism
So real it’s surreal
So real it’s surreal bicentric ill will and the distance
of eye-sized fears
I fear I feel never scraping the back of my throat
cynical
I fold only writing the cold deep
Breath holding days unlearned space
it’s bent molded broken at thought
things
fall apart
the opposition of all being like wet feet independent
of subservient mind move
tomorrow builds up until I can’t swallow like desperate
on a bottle top curve
and my side hurts
like unengaged words to a barren page
the rust colored burn aged in eye-sized fears like
6 billion prayers to an open sky and the dead sea that
holds it to faith
Like satin between a rock and a hard place
Faith stretches on long face and bends as dawn breaks
with the morose of nameless me precociously uninhibited
Enclosed between white walls asking for brown skin and
subservient minds
Like the universe she can back spin
But I know cosmology can’t explain this
fermentative anguish
permanent vacant eyes
Or swollen hands clinging to the opposition of all
things being
Me in my skin like mid-summer rain sounds
self-doubt is melodic in faith
recapitulated through escape routes as fetuses
underdeveloped fist raised in damaged womb
Six feet of earth and the deepest maroon
Her worst in vain when the thirst is plain my side hurts
the same against the grain I move like we feet groove
to freedom’s ring
Sometimes my words consume me
Like unduly elected officials and political platitudes
Cold deep breath pursuing cynicism unto the depth
of mid-Atlantic ridge
It’s memory unto the depth of psychological rape
Or faith as unlearned space
Diversity like summer drying into fall
Like agoraphobic birds to an open sky and white
wall comfort
The unencumbered smile of random she moving gently
to the melodic murmur of neo-colonialism
body sway melancholic though
I can’t call it yo
the distance eye-sized fears or clairvoyant stares into
the dark
unlearned space marks the unknown self
Broken at thought
when reconfigured words emerge at the chance of
self-destruction drop
Like
fuck that nigga
my side hurts
fuck that nigga
and my side hurts
Like the rust colored burn aged in eye-sized fears
so real I’m scared only linguistics prepared it’s nothing
When the surrealistic moment or
bare bone torment tears at the divide it’s murderous
pitted against white walls its ruthless
abstruse movement sway body melancholic
I can’t call the distance words consume me
and I can’t call it
The distance faith and that nigga possess
a name and Guess
Unlearned space and cynicism
Clairvoyance and fear
My words and I
a closed fist to an open sky
vacant eyes and neo-colonialism
The precision is ever new
subtle change
mid-summer rain her worst in vain
she escapes to aged brick city thick
This is when my words consume me
and my side hurts but we keep moving and my side hurts
but we keep moving
and I can’t call it