Author: Demetrius Buckley

I Can’t Die

Picture me rolling through those hospital doors, doctor asking me about my first visit. You left a bullet in me last time and now it belongs to me, how I take the good with the bad. So much of it that they run together; how a...

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Mrs. John A.

Flying on fueled wings and not a single run in her stockings. This profession is rosary and hail Mary’s, Cartier frames on up-scaled 28’s. She is mother, love; a Goddess scoring. Her runway’s a 6 mile radius of broken...

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Queen Auset (Egyptian Journey)

She inhales her melanin and somewhere I become a ripple in a pond. A name. We walk down the block, turn street into sand, telephone pole into obelisk; my names a pyramid shifting, aligned with the sun and physical for a moment,...

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