The Lost Notebooks

(Afrofuture 4: Jean-Michael Basquiat)

you write: LEAPSICKNESS THE LAW OF LIQUIDS 
i write: between the creases of wilted flowers

you write: SO IT WAS SUNG BY SOME WHITEGIRLS
i write: i do not have to be for you

you write: THERE’S A SONG ON THE RADIO
i write: unlikely theories about the future

you write: KAYO IN THE LUNA PARK
i write: a mattress that fits us both

you write: ORIGIN OF COTTON
i write: lists of places i’ve been kissed

you write: MICROWAVE & VIDEO X-SISTANCE
i write: my name + your name = [insert lovesong lyric]

you write: PAY FOR SOUP / BUILD A FORT / SET THAT ON FIRE
i write: the irony of organic cigarettes

this is not a comparison, this 
is just to say that if anyone ever found

my notebooks they would mean nothing.
this is just to say that my mother

used to scribble words, too
ones she hid in the wide open

on the coffee table i knew not to touch.
even then i asked her to promise
that when she dies, i get them.