Cannibal Culture


He was hungry

So he ate her

Hey, you know

Boys will be


She said, “No.”

But it was only

One time

She should’ve

Done more to

Fight back

Her hands

Weren’t tied

She said, “No.”

But, she really

Meant, “Yes.”

Plus, it was after

He had already

Rooted his teeth

She left the house

Half dressed

What did she

Expect to happen

With the meatiest

Parts of her body


These cattle

They ought to

Know better

These hens

Never seem

To learn their


You know

These girls

Can’t make up

Their minds

You know

These girls

Can’t manage

Their wants

You know

These men

Have needs

You can’t

Hold his hand

And refuse to

Feed him

You can’t

Have culinary


And then act

All shy

When he

Expects a feast

You went back

To his apartment

What did you think

Would happen?

You sat comfortably

At a set table

You willingly

Went into his kitchen


He was hungry

So he gorged himself

On her fat

Disemboweled her

Consumed contents

Of open cavity

Cupped hands

In shallow

Pool of pulsing


Drank until

No more thirst


Through muscle


On tendons

Until incisors

Accosted bones

He video taped it

He took pictures of her


He told his friends

And they told him

That they had

Tasted human


Ex-girl friends

Gone missing


Neighbors and strangers

A pile of rotting remains

Whose names

They barely remember

They were hungry

So they fed themselves

Hey, you know

Boys will be


Hey, you know

These whores

Cannot be built

Into housewives

You’d better

Burn down

The building

And start from

The beginning

You know these

Women weren’t

Raised right

These single mothers

Don’t parent properly

You know these

Young girls

Are bold nowadays

You’ve seen


10 year olds

Who look 18

How’s he supposed

To know

Who to bite

And who to keep his

Mouth away from

It’s impossible

You’re illogical

Stop being


The Bible has you


Like you don’t want

To have your flesh

Torn from your bones

The Quran has you


There’s something


With becoming

Remnants of meat

A man will pick

From between

His teeth

You think

You’re too good

To be consumed

You are stupid

To assume

A man will

Control his urges

It’s your


To keep him


It’s your job

To convince him

You deserve

To keep your skin

Stay sober

In the company

Of male acquaintances

Stay out of the cars

Of men you know


Cover yourself

When you

Are the subject

Of his gaze

Stay out

Of bars


And alleyways

Don’t invite him

Over after the

Neighbors have

Lowered their blinds

Don’t travel

Where there is

No one to watch out

For you

You don’t know

What to do

In these


In this big



In these


Little Red,

He will rip the hood

From your head

And your scalp

From your skull

Right along with it

These women

Need to learn

Not to be a tease

Not be loose

Not to be bitches

Not to be rude,


Keep your

Pretty little



You’d better


When he


When he


When he


When he



Provoke him

He was

Born hungry

You know,

Boys will

Be greedy


For All the Times

You Called Me a Liar

When the Truth Made You

Look Like a Psycho


I cannot

Artist a tale

Spectrum enough

To acrylic you villain



Has a way

Of staining



I ain't

Sketch yo



That shit

Been asymmetrical

From finger paint


That tongue

Been forked road

From Crayola

You act

Like I just hatched

From a patch

Of cabbages

Under last night's


But I've been


Since before

First Converse

And cursive



You can quote me


You can't delete

My attention to detail


I been here

Been born


I don't care

About your



You ain't

Blueprint me

You ain't


To canvas

Any of

My degrees

I'm not



You can

Mix the colors

All you want


Muddy the water

In the cup

With all the

Tempera anointed

Brushes at once

Until the result

Is a shade

So bruised


Will avert

Their gaze



And watch


I will not budge

I will not smear

I will not fade


Opaque as

I ever was


Truth has

A way

Of ruining



Little cunt



Steals anything

She can vice


Those spotlight


Baptize you neon

At midnight



Will come at

Your throat

Wielding a Sharpie

So expertly

You'd oath

It guillotine





As wet paint


I stand

In my blood

You ask


Oh, what

Happened, love?

Why so cadaver

Why vacant eyes

Why mouth

So abandoned


Why don't

You adore me


Why so

Light switch


Why so


In bath water?

What did

I ever do

To hurt



Black Lives


When God invented sound

We are what he intended

Us with our percussion footsteps

With our gleaming trumpets

With these lungs

With these mouths

My body, a clef

His nautilus ears

A many chambered


And all the World

Altered, added, suspended


We were born knowing how

To prism these chords

Marry triad to rustling wind 

Weave between

These trees, standing


The leaves, changing

To know the difference

To modify the time

To open the corridors

Of our throats

Forever and ever

And never have to sleep

Or wonder


We are unrelenting

8 count enough to fill a glass

Thunder enough to break it's back

Hands enough to carry it



Destroy again


We, symphony

Of hearts

Bleed riffs

Like the ancients

And our mothers' mothers

Their eyes, notation

Captured in

Collective memory

Like rainwater

Like morning

Like the tingle

Of sunlight

Coloring us green

Growing us big

Tuning our

Guitar string veins

Vibrating our bones

Puzzling us into

Gifts shaped

Like children


Where Loving Him Has Gotten You So Far


For you, I will start at the ending

The nervous flutter of your children

Resonate across your back like a frail

whip of sound. All of these bones

Chain linked under whisper of skin

Tenting your flesh to the sky, trapping

you under God's feet, sow you even

deeper into this planet


Your life clicking a hole punch into metal.

A stab into the night's belly. A requiem,

constructed of unloved things and what is

fleeting. Your words, connected to your own

feet. The corners of your eyes, kneeling to

meet him. A man who stands as tall as a

basement's floor.


You never notice paws where hands should be.

A rapidly beating heart that escapes your body

and runs into the night, screaming. The unhinged

door between your knees. The bullets that swarm

around you like fireflies. The unexplained river of

blood that mysteriously dries whenever he leaves.


These are the things that keep you needing that

which you cannot name. His face, branded onto

the canvas of your sleeping children. Your daughter's

hair, a bonsai tree. The road of your son's spine freckled

with bread crumbs, just in case. Their collective breath

anchored to banister and bathtub faucet. Measured on

a persuasive little scale that has permanently perched

itself on the kitchen table, where all day it sings off key.

And you with it, harmoniously. 


You keep your sugar next to the cocaine and what

a shame it would be to let either thing go to waste. 


Outside, the street leads directly to your front porch

Your yard collects all of the city's ghosts. You are

closest to God in the back of a squad car or while

laying on the bathroom floor.


Your heart, a clock always telling you it's time for you to

leave. But even when you manage to unbind the floorboards

from your feet, you turn your face slightly, so that gravity can

feed you the familiar taste of your own injuries.

A harvest of teeth soldier themselves all around your home

in place of where the gate used to be.