American Sonnet 1

not too much that can be said (though i am 

never at a loss for words.) on tonight of all 

nights. on my bed lie several poetry books and

suddenly im in the mood to craft a few anti-

ghazals (though id like to call mine blues ghazals

in memory of Adrienne Rich). now i don’t fancy

rhyming just as i don’t fancy the way he kisses me

goodbye and hello...all tongue and wetness against

the coolness of my cheeks. thats neither here nor 

there. this motel world is a bit unsettling, id much

rather be in a place where no one and everyone is

aware of my name, but refers to me as ‘light honey’

or ‘brotha O.’ once home for work, i got into the 

shadows of my bed, grabbed my chromebook and

quickly crafted a few american sonnets for ‘black men

who sometimes don’t ever walk into their true selves.’