ARIZONA FRACTURE I won’t keep walking on broken glass or live without rain or clouds when I dry my blood’s blood on far away hands. When you close the door and leave me here like a wounded battlefield, open: Me, with the cadavers of time gathering in my chest, with the spilt blood of the escape, with your voice calling to me from a heart at war, I’ll show up at the wrong time. Don’t look back. Don’t name this body. BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE Not anymore. I refuse to leave buried the things I thought. One day. When I was on the brink of dreaming even more. 75 I won’t love the green trees more than my own neighborhood Or ignore the dreams I had at 23. Or miss the ruthless sun more than the Caribbean with masks of latent fierceness.