Authors: Saul Williams
A cross
to bare.
A bridge
to cross.
I am not
broken
. Just tired.
Damaged
slightly.
Nothing good lasts forever.
And
sometimes
nothing bad does either.
Th
is is my stop. Can we land now
Bus driv
e
r?
That
old
bridge
exists in the reflection
Of the new
. Simply beautiful. I need
To sleep somewhere like that.
I need to wake up in the care of the sun.
I need to feel safe with my eyes closed.
I need to land. Like an alley cat.
I paid my fare a million times.
I am not a secret!!
I am screaming
Inside
this shell.
Time
can't find me here. No more
Watches. Everybody watches.
Watch me get off.
Watch me get off.
Watch me land.
I got wings
This bus got
wings
.
Just put this baby
in drive
.
And let's fly
Let's exist together
For the very first
time.
who told you
you
could
expose
your
wings
black girl
don't you know there is no room to evolve here
no room to resolve fears
dissolve tears
back into the earth from
wh
ich
y
ou came
your name(?)
lucy(,)
loosely
considered
hominoid
human
beautiful
woman
marvel at your buttocks
and legs
slim waist
and breasts
yet make child suckling illegal in public
we need no remembrance
of what we taught you to forget
of heru and
auset
jesus and
mary
forbid to teach the babies
that the
messiah
had a messiah
and her name was
Mama
Despite your small victories
you were built for digestion.
There is a fire in your chest
that will burn you in the right
direction: follow it.
Blind yourself
with anything.
It is the only way
to walk properly;
sightless stumbling over
cobblestones, molars
under your feet.
Tonight, you are
the offering.
Every step taken
is a minor rapture
for
your tongue,
your nose, ears,
and hands
heightened
by the surrendering
of your pupils. Walk
your heels skinless,
until your blisters
are just pads
of pulp. And then, when you collapse,
sprawled out like a starfish, you will love
with your whole body.
You will bleed the earth
a sky.
no one tells you
if anyone does you do not listen anyway
if you do still you do not understand
no one tells you how to be free
there is fire in your neck
ocean in your ear
there is always your
fear
the words you can
not
even
no one is here
when the world
open
s upside
down you reach toward dawn
your weight on the earth changes
some of us plant deeper
others ache to fly
Hot wind spra
y
s sand in
our eyes
, and I know you're still angry with me.
To the west, Eden's trees sway and the
cool water
washes sinner skin clean.
Don't worry love, you'll be free of me soon.
Babies' blood upon my chin, sweet as pomegranate syrup. Oh, how many fetters
wrought in love and unmade by lust, were soggy-skinned and tender.
Fear not my love, you'll be
clean
thi
s
afternoon.
How you loved to weave
the bonds
and strap them to my belly. Now
the heat of your anger scorches the plain, lamenting both hunger
and its satiation. Don't worry love, you'll be
free
of me
s
oon.
When our sons have a taste for their young,
you
'll remember me.
Attributing a lineage
of
sin to
your
sister, though I only meant to
bring you unburdened to your
fate
. Oh my dear one, remember this tune.
Eve waits in the shadow of a fig tree,
the
virgin daughter.
Her juices will still feel unclean on your fingers,
Tasting not quite right. You're
impossible
to please, just like your Father.
Dearly beloved, this demon's
love
for you
was true
;
Here you
stand
at Earth's gate, I've carried you through!
Lust and fire defeated, rem
and
me to the dunes;
For all that I bore you, I'll be free of you soon.
It is fine to mourn the dead
--- but this is not that poem.
This for those we haven't lost.
This for those
who couch
surf
until
waves
of hospitality cease
cresting
.
Then, they crash
on floors before
they find another place,
paddle over and pray
the
tide rises high
enough to hang 10
or h
o
we
ver
many days they can.
This is for those
wh
ose disorganiz
at
ion
was amusing and endearing
until it cost them college,
those for whom
“damn homie
in h
i
gh
s
chool you was the man homie
the fuck happened to you?”
was
written
.
This is for those
who
o
nly call once
e
ver
5-
7
months and
have the same conversation
each
time
,
like pop song
s
â the chords might change
but the progression's the same.
It starts with
a warm greeting
and details suggesting
progress paid a visit
before the c
over
of enthusiasm fades,
revealing
the only real change:
their location.
Sad nostalgia
infects
their voice, reminding
o
f e
ver
y errand and chore
and other reason to
get off the phone
right
now
.
This is for those
people, we all know
those people.
They were our best friends
growing up, the ones we looked up to.
Now we c
an
har
d
ly find
the energy for half a smile
whenever they cross our paths.
This
i
s for those
because after so many
unsuccessful efforts,
offering help feels
like attempting to push
the boulder of Sisyphus,
it seems absurd to even try.
All that remains is hope
and hope can elect a president
but it can't save a person's life
so we write and read
poems like
these,
like
lighthouses
and maybe
those people will find their way
back to shore.
This is for those we haven't lost
because there is a fate worse than death
and it's living to hear eulogies
for the person you could have been
There was no way
to say goodbye
that last day I tried.
There was thank you.
There was I love you.
There was a hand to hold
and your eyes
and the great shifting
paintings
of your windows.
The ocean and the sky
and you, so tired,
everything deserting you.
Years unwinding to this;
From far away, I call,
trying to keep your voice in my ears.
Your warrior girl has pushed
your bed to the window.
Your head rests with the rising
of the sun and of the moon.
How many hearts broke
themselves, trying to hold
and keep, before she
who could stop a coal truck
with her will? She makes you soup.
The waves break
over
her.
I knew, this morning,
before it came.
You had gone under,
deep beneath morphine
and out with the
tide
.
I am here, helplessly alive
trying to find you.
You, the long, brown, gypsy boy,
trailing your ragged beauty.
You, the man,
wild-eyed and righteous,
throwing your shoes at the murderer
behind the pen. You, your shirt
splotched with my tears. You
laughing at my absurdity.
Your shout of “What are you, drunk?”
You the maker of hangover
eggs, the eyes that shared the joke,
fellow chaser of storms.
the one who loved my swagger
and knew everything behind it.
The huge
moving sea
is
between us
.
I no longer can hold
your
disappearing
hand.
Your body is as earth
and stones and all
there is to offer
cannot bring one more day
of your sweet, sleepy smile.
I cry out from the sinew,
out from the agonized clutch
of my chest. My
flesh
has never seemed so undeserved.
This grief is a
hurricane
that passes and passes.
The eye. The storm. The eye.
I remember you,
that last afternoon
in your high, white flat.
You were unafraid. The sky
was already taking
possession
.
I remember you
in that seaside room
where the windows held no shore,
only the
vast horizon
.
Trace the red cord
from tread to source
to find threads
of a
crushed
case,
the screeching white
rib of animal
framework splintered
through a pelt still
fresh with fleas
fragments of ivory
archways snapped
tangled in viscera
of violets bruised
rouge and mangled
tubes
pulsate
spurts
in the midmorning
rays till the last drops
sheen in every crevice
of the road we glance
away
to
avoid
the scene
a deflated carcass
disappearing
on
the
horizon.
1
Broken
Pieces of
bone
Skulls
And feet
Eye
s and teeth
Mixed with shattered concrete
All
th
is rubbl
e
Cousins
Bricks
Steel beams
Sister
Glass, mother
Tears,
blood
Brother
Babies
Buried under all that
unyielding
Unforgiving rubble
When the dump trucks
Come to scoop up
Toes and clothes
Papers and arms
Who will take the time
To
peel
Flesh
off
the
Cracked wood boards
Separate
what was once
alive
From the plastic
But sometimes in the
Rubble there is life
2
From
Under the concrete
A rescue dog hears a heartbeat
Life
Barks to alert
D
o
g and resc
u
e
r
s
Find
Warm-blooded
person
Heart still beating
Pumping blood
So subtle
Buried in all that rubble
Yet this dog
Hears
There are no
Buried
secrets
They
Know compassion
As they tread carefully
Walk
o
ver and through
Mo
u
ntains of
B
r
oken
Unstable
Rubble
To find
life
3
8 days
Under
rubble
Entombed
Only able to roll
A few inches
Wiggle
your toes
Only able to pray
Psalms blocks out the panic thoughts
And claustrophobia
As earth shattering
Aftershocks
Threaten, threaten
To rain death on
you
But the rumbles
are
the
Machines
Chomping through
Concrete
Wires
Broken glass
They find you
Under 10 stories of concrete
You were at work when