Sunday, April 4, 2010


Dear Oaks,

I need you.
I need you to
Butter my toast on both sides
And run my bath water.
And twist the little knobs.
And walk around with trays.
And dry my hands.
And see my show.
And brave the rain.
And smell my head.
And make another album.
And sell shirts.
And call me from Memphis.
And cover Dylan.
And taste my corn fed fest feelings.
And pass the salt.
Someday I'll tell you the story about the salt.
I don't even have to lean against anything when I see you.
Well, no walls or poles that is.
And I cross my legs like that because I'm afraid I'll piss myself with excitement.
Happy Easter Two Oaks.
Even though I'm sure you're not into that.
Happy spring time,
Bonnet time,
Born once again time.
If I didn't have you I'd be a jelly fish.
I'd be instant potatoes.
I'd only have an honorary degree.
Did you know that Gwendolyn Brooks has an honorary degree from North Park!
You gotta be fucking shitting me!
let's get mad together.
lets cut our bangs into tiny pieces and load the van.


We real cool? Fine. I get it.

But, if one more bitch gets something for nothing I will give up.

When I lean against friend boy listening to you live,
Crossing one leg over the other leg,
Swallowing the base with a bang of my head,
I think about all the quick people my age too busy playing house to conquer a rock Sunday opera.
Too busy thawing the breast milk to download the latest.

I think about all the black babies I'll adopt when I'm forty.
And finally,
as the kids say,
When my eggs have dried up and crystallized into the virgin white pellets that oozed from the butt of my now deceased bunny that loved me completely. Like she was my flesh. Like I was her skin.

I think of the black baby boy I could take in as my own.
And teach him not to ever never never expect something. anything. for. nothing. at. all.

Skin and Toast

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