Napowrimo #1 April 1, 2013

no poet lives here

no sir-ree

the women who lives here hasn’t

touched a mic in years

I hear she doesn’t even keep a pen

on her person anymore for

every time she leaves the

universe on a


no slick slang supplicating her literary

luminosity to piss off the academia

and i ain’t no snitch

but I have a feeling that wherever she is

she wishes her tongue was catapulting bricks in to the crowd

at a glass home owners association meeting

my mind is a wetland with red clay center

the ideas it produces are rooted in


fortified with a crackling layer of silence

that I fight like holy hell to dig beyond

I bet she and I would get along

maybe adulthood has also scooped out her gusto

with a wooden spoon

whipped up some unleavened dough from it

baked a good life

that gives her


a mother

worthy of the


but i ain’t no psychic either

my wildest guess is she is sucking cupcake

icing from hollowed fingers

crumbling sediment

in between home row keys

teaching her

child the rainbow of possibilities

that no longer shimmer

in between her



One thought on “Napowrimo #1 April 1, 2013

  1. Napowrimo #1 April 1, 2013 | Lizz Straight: Poet Goddess Gangsta

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