I will not stuff my tears into my coat pocket
Or swipe them from my face
as if they burn
I will not clasp hold of the sob
banging furiously at the corners of my eyes
I will let these tears escape
like refugees from an oppressive regime
I will let these tears dampen my beard
as if a staff will part the sea
gathering unabashedly at my chin
I will not be ashamed
Death touches everyone
inappropriately
-Rahk.
Mama says, “Man be feral.
Apt to concquer–
Yet can’t concquer his beast.
Makes him irrational
Like a rabid wolf
Intent to maintain his awareness
As he seeks the meat ‘neath your chest.”
Mama says, “Man be feral,” and “a little too infatuated with woman’s breasts.”
I say, “No mama, man be hurt.”
Mama says, “And what wounded beast, is not demon in deed?
Ever seen a rabid jackal? That’s a demon indeed!”
I say, “But mama, daddy ain’t no beast.”
Says Mama, “Beast no match for a monster.”
“So, Mama, woman be monster?”
“Yes, Baby, but only when beasts are upon us.”
“What’s woman before then?”
“Baby, before when? Beasts were created before men.”
-Rahk.
as the sky is blue
so are oceans
so are bays
so are winged things
that glide and flitter between rock
so are slithering things
that shimmer and hide beneath rock
as the sky is blue
as the oceans
as the bays
as the puddles reflecting twilight
as the robes that roll down blue black legs
as the dust glimmering on a catepillar’s dreams
as the wings
as the wings
of defiant things
flicking off the ground
as the sky is blue
so are streams and lakes and ponds
so are infants and women and boys
so are auroras undulating in brown eyes
so are turning tassels
and the timid flames of eighty-nine cent lighters
and dishonest prayer cloths
and unused bookmarks
and little girls forced to wear dresses
and little boys bruised while wearing dresses
as the sky is blue
and fluid and vast
and unafraid of its horizons
so are you
Rahk.
Rahk's Water 