your hair
a turbine
wild as a room of men
gambling eating
and laying about cursing
is the talk
because you are free woman
and it is saturday in the bright shine happiness
the gregarious frenzy of your locks
the ornate festival of your locks
the verb and salute of your locks
july sun burnishing water
the gilded city healed and complete
laughing pistoning
licking the avenues to shine
under new sky
and fever
sistuh
makes me move
draw back my bitter face
james brown traversing a scream
and exclaim
(HEY!!!)
sistuh
your hair an october midnight
opaque with stars omens
is on your head like intellect
it churns conjures accuses
mimics winter in chicago
is full and forbidding among my pillows
sings and laments
i remember your locks
the brown of your cheeks
we were sitting in the aimless sermon
of the pontificating sunday 9 am
too early for the week
and too late to shake and jazz
you spoke in metaphors
angry about your job
the time away from life
missing your mother
and what the man demanded you be
i almost got my gun
went down there
you lift your chin
when you don’t like something
a matriarch rejecting a lie
and your locks lay back
in sincere challenge
you aint having it
your hair says so
strewn across your face
frames your left eye
maps your cheek and
points to your kiss
i move them away
so easy
they agree
and gather behind your beautiful ear
they don’t mind if i start there
where you are a child
stealing away late
listening to the 2 am city
then limp along to find the woman in your mouth
they don’t mind if i fall into the perfumed interim
between your breasts
and cry to you about love
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