Between my first and three hundredth hello,
I could still never quite land my feet in a place...

I never realized my back
could be exposed like...

I barely remember today
or yesterday...

When the white man
hears accusations of "privilege...

Who are you?
I am not MYSELF...

Transparent ribbon
swivels around my thumb...

Her body is tied, twisted- her backbone
tightly woven around...

The seasons bring a multitude of colours
that seem to grow more beautiful with age...

The cops are afraid
when Black men move a muscle...

It's back again,
gnawing...

A steady pulse
then everything crescendos...

I have no signtature in ink
that says I am bound to you...