Marsh Hawk Review is an online poetry journal sponsored by the Marsh Hawk Press collective. Marsh Hawk Review will appear twice a year, under the revolving editorship of collective members. Each issue will offer a selection of poems solicited by the editor, in addition to new work posted by poets in the collective.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Tyrone Williams

The Lesson

She let her hands away from her

Hers was a body about to outlove

A future of love in the channel between

Bodies curled with the bends

Her hands had something to say to me

It is late and early and too late

The small of her back bright as hope

The most subtle death of laughter

A back imperfect, like perfection

or light bending to enter a room through a window

She took my hand around her waist

Only a stump as the end of my wrist

And stump pain as the ache of in love

Daddy's Baby's Blues

Back in the day--say, late morning--I'd been trying to catch up, dipping just because I got here when I got here, and everybody--Madhubuhti, Baraka, Addidas--was already running off at the lip, so I figured TW'd jump in on the r & b tip, be the best black love poet--or best black poet of love--of my let-him-go generation. Actually, it was all post facto batter batter chatter. Monday morning and here I was, dealing spades and bubblegum and all out of bubblegum, knowing I'd been laying down begging-music trips like poop on Pampers. Betcha no one had a stroke when I enrolled at the American Business College, dry humped the first leg I saw, and announced the arrival of the Angry Black Man whom, given the times, blueballed to the max, I linked--acronymically--to a silo-cold anti-ballistic missile--or ABM. As an anagram, however or additionally, I linked it phallocentrically--given the times, bitchslapped and strapped--to the Black Arts Movement--or BAM. Moreover, given the fact that I have never attended or taught at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, despite or because or having nothing to do with my selective interest in Siberian history--say, the collapse of the Baikal-Amur Mainline--but having everything to do with RW who says the BAM is me, it's all I can do to just shuttle between yabba dabba doo BAM-BAM or BAM-BAM yabba dabba doo.

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