violence is not the answer
unless you ask:
how did you make find out of flesh?
how do you dispose of evidence when you are
one night stand with colorblind black
i thumb and twist the free coils of his hair, still stubborn steerage
refusing my hands as pilot
the bed is stubborn steerage or the hardest water bed
ever slept in,
he wants me to tell him
his name, i tell him
it doesn’t matter. not
because i love him. no,
we just met and are covered in 2(?) hours of sweat and
i know his name.
i am running away from his finger but
to his command,
like tomorrow’s massacre,
return to it with conviction. no,
it doesn’t matter what your name is.
Jonathan Jacob Moore, or Jon Jon, is a Black Mexican bitchboi & hoodqueer poet from Detroit. He studies at Tufts and appreciates good hugs, cold cheesecake, and motor-city-sweet-Black pettiness.
His work has been featured or is soon to appear in The Black Napkin, The James Franco Review, Vinyl, and Winter Tangerine among others.
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