I’m living on borrowed wine.
Last of the light.
Only I
seem to mind.
I sleep to see
what I might find.

Yes I been black
but when I come back

I want to be anonymous
as America. As famous.
Market my words.
I been treading so long
this water into wine—
why fight? My tongue hurts.
Even with death I flirt.

And if my daddy
thinks I’m fine

I’m in love with the light. How it
spills across all it touches, burns
& blooms. I cave. I parade. I quail.
For somewhere I’ve set sail,
three sheets to the wind. Don’t
tell my mother where I been.

I said No,
No, No.