by Wimpy AF
“when you see a mountain coming,
get out of it’s way.”
my uncle, six-two and oxen
told me after clipping my wing.
i learn at an early age
to be a black man
is to see a black man
and fear his size, momentum.
to love a black man is to see
his shape and surrender.
i lay myself down
on his threshing floor
say uncle,
and await apocalypse
across my arms. when two gods
enter a room, one is humbled.
but there are no walls,
no floors in space.
so i say lover
when i meet him there.