Lorenzo Buford
Castrated beliefs
sauté my affections
yet the taste no longer is me
but has become sterilized
and I look outside myself.
There is no one looking at me.
I touch myself to remember
how it feels, how I taste
and there is emptiness.
I think of a black room
And I'm afraid to turn on the light.
But I know I must enter the black room
And everything I believed,
every woman that has crowned my head,
I leave like discarded clothes.
The smell of the women, the memories
are like strips of flesh.
I am bones and brain with pieces
of a heart, I carry in a medicine bag.
I want to howl at the moon,
run naked again
but the woods
have become a concrete jungle.
I am a Madness
screaming at my reflection
as I drown myself in beer foam.
I know I am walking into a black room.
NEXT: Walk the Edges With Me
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