Noel Negele- Two Poems

The Fuel.

To watch you cook in your undies

while I lie in bed,

the same bed we tried to become one

on so many many many occasions,

and we came pretty close,

maybe as close as it gets,

as I smoke another cigarette

and think

that there must be so many many many

people out there

that want to be in my place

at least for now,

as I watch your ass

divided into two hillocks of flesh

by that minuscule fabric

you call thongs,

thinking

about the poor black men

hiding in bushes

as other poor black men hunt them down

and burn entire cities to the ground,

thinking

about men on their knees

awaiting a knife to take their heads

like slicing a waterlemon

before handing the half of it out,

thinking about beautiful women

walking around like mummies

in lives

they will never trully get a kick out of,

thinking

about great men and women

that are dead

and that will continue to be dead

for so much longer

for longer than us,

all these humans

so many of them

so much worse than me

as I lie on this bed

examining the smoke as

it sails away from my mouth

and up to the ceiling

as you attempt to make me

laugh 

by telling a joke

you heard yesterday,

yes 

yes 

yes

wash me with your life

with your laughter

with your vitality and carelesness

because when I'm alone

the demons climb over the walls

but when I'm with you

they

blush

and

hide

away.

Steady Holding On.

The orange rays of the sun

through the well fed clouds serenely floating overhead

warming the shy rain drops on the window

traveling in the room

bringing beauty and warmth

where you wait for help

where you wait for hope

where you wait for love

the orange rays of the sun spread over the ceiling

like an invisible brush tincturing life

you turn your head towards the window

far away, over the roof tops and beyond

cut in half by the horizon

between the corpulent clouds

the sun radiates

it seems as if it is trying to look at you

like a child jumping behind a row of people

like a child leanining in until it has a view of you

and the antennas are shadowed by the light

standing on the rooftops like rickety strings of a guitar

and the sound of the wheels on the wet asphalt

and the sound of life outside the house

and the field of color on the sky

and the new day

the new day

the new day...