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144 pages, Paperback
First published November 1, 2022
I crept to mom ‘n’ pops where bells above doors snitched to mention my entrance. But I tolled them bells. I was toys to be bothered. I had made such toyish mistakes. In any Black sentence, you’d love nothing more than to had made / no mistake.
This is how we commemorate—graffiti on the scalps of trains, the lower waists of offices, sharpies to a bathroom stall, twigs ushered through newborn concrete. All of it, our way of reclaiming the narrative of a place, leaving a mark that costs the state money to eradicate.
A child may ask, “Who?” The adults will answer however they do, but their answers will irritate history.
I am the only trick alive / and with eyes who likes outgrown / acrylics and who likes it when / wind blows a water fountain’s show / onto a sidewalk in a park the size / of Paradise. I think, righteous confetti.
what smoke needed / was consequence;~ what it needed / was harm back