I Make Your Womb a Drum

“Mary, did you know that your Baby Boy has walked where angels trod?
When you kissed your little Michael, you kissed the face of God?”

“I make your womb a drum,
Your umbilical cord a guitar that I strum.”

Mama, you are my melody

You smoked your widow tears
Puffed out wisdom in redacted lines
Left fingerprints on the thighs of time
You inspire these street scrolls
I fish smoke your words for my rainy days

Cosmic poet
I gather dust from the cradle of martyred stars
Cast dice in the Orion Belt
Big Bang my own theory of becoming a man you raised me to be-
Come

Come mama
Let’s write wishes on feathers
Abstract sketches
Imagine Hellen Keller with a paint brush on the walls of my soul
Man is blood in a chalice for the gods
You said
You quit church and started smoking
Mom, you gangsta!

I pray for Dominic and me
Wild oats trying to decode destiny’s faded skylines
The sky never melts no matter how hot the sun shines

Weaving baskets
Art in my art-eries
I’m in love with your imagination, mom
If you were my girl
You could turn French kisses into frankincense
Your saliva into myrrh
You fore-sketched my fate’s calendar
Like the Mayan

You echo the ballads to my pipe dreams
Like Doris…

“Que Sera Sera,
Whatever will be will be,
The future is not ours to see,
Que Sera Sera”

And the Beatles…

“…Mother Mary comes to me,
Speaking words of wisdom,
Let it be
Let it be
There will be an answer.”

Or just puff a blunt to Pac’s…

Dear Mama, I still dream of foil necks and Mexican buds
Searching for Nirvina where Kobain’s bullet took his ass
Books is me
And I love fat women
And I scribe my insanity
Enchanted notes on blank pages
Blank space when you look in the mirrow
The silence

Ohm is a mathematical symbol of Libra
I will multiply the love you gave me

Namaste!

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