by Afaa Michael Weaver
In between the leaves of a weeping willow tree,
a rock from outer space sets its sights on me,
rattling like a crazed bumble bee on crack,
hardened on broken backs, it sets out to smack
me down. The long rip and tear it makes along
the space where my nose falls off, like a thong
between two unruly cheeks, it rips until the sweet
vapor of a gangsta nirvana comes again to meet
the devil riding high on the rim of the hole in me.
Copyright ©:
2023, Afaa M. Weaver
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