Black Magic Girl

black magic girl.
the charm of her voodoo’s
not in her hips
nor in the jiggle of her feet.

her voice does not mimic the gods’,
but I pray, let her speak
the chants that play with
the beats of her heart.

let Black Magic Girl
dance now to
her tune, not the
drums of your bellow

nor the trump of your ego.
please leave the black magic girl be
to show us her charms
and not her skin or her

screams and your
black, brown, white magic.
black magic girl,
click your fingers and be

whisked off
away from men,
women, who do not see
that you are the charm,

your mind and your heart
(even as your skin glows
a blend of velvet chocolate and coffee grounds), of
black magic girl.


how not to use a girl

every man, yellow, brown,
woman too, surely ought
to know how not, an’ tune
your ears, to use a June.

if you find a girl, say
at your door in a box,
wooden, in tissue wraps,
maybe blue, greenish swans

floating on blueish lakes,
groom’d with redbrown bow,
do not let winds of rage
blow your pale hands or beige

belt on my soft tan skin.
do not, in heav’n’s name, by
calloused hands, cunning tongue
ever take ‘tever’s mine.

not my will. not my drawers.
do not don me in dark

petticoats stitch’d, hemmed
trimmings of rifles, balls,
as a god soothe with the
Dev’l’s snare or dirge. do not,

i plead, use me at all,
for not a stud bred for
gaining more, akin to
polished crowns only for

reign am i. i am as
all men as i am a