the epithelium of the heart, by Darius Molark

dr. mercurious: if you thrive with scorn in your heart, the revolutionary poet will not be beautiful and will never be satisfied. enough warming hands from many world thrivers will have to come and rob the revolutionary poet’s heart. murders and killings will be risked. everything will be at risk, the soul fiber of his humanness. she will be evicted and all her kids and things sealed in garbage bags will sit in front of the police station on 79th street and he will be waiting to watch the homeless bus come and. and he will not understand this. she will go on. the revolutionary poet, the revolutionary poet’s route will conquer the double challenged of surviving through the jungle of intra tribal madnesses…. with scars the revolutionary poet will become poet

songs I not sing, by Darius Molark

today i write of distant songs
of songs across the lands and the seas
of songs held with eyes languid,
searing voices lashed across the towns and the grief
that have have received the bombs, the planes
and the feet that have march for days through
ungodly insanes, why so pliant the woman
and children that they cannot be moved
but burnt to the ground songs of
sweeping throats through horrid pain

songs that probably cannot be song
today i write of distant songs
songs that garble like ocean crossing sea birds
that grip the skies in the morning and
that feast on what is left of the ravaged earth

songs that do not tell time
songs that merely go away
dreaded songs despair
songs songs that

i have forgotten
songs so far
so far

darius molark, poet writer in chicago

there must be some what outta here…, by Darius Molark

there will be nobody waiting inside
so you don’t have to worry about stuff
just remove your clothes, feel good, just abide
to the shower like it will clean you up
but marcel didn’t trust any of this
how was this women and men children clique
could walk in and then out in a clean wash bliss?
no, he wasn’t having any of it
he pushed the guard down, but hey, it was too late
showers were pouring, people were coughing
marcel’s eyes were beginning to dilate
was there a pillar to make this offering?
god came down, he didn’t do anything
the mist proved bile, marcel could not refrain

take it back by Darius Molark

he can do anything he got us
our homes, our names, our cars,
our girls, our boys whose lives
we hope to keep from pain, he’s
got them too, he’s got our brains
even for coal dust, for reducing
taxes to the rich, he’s done
twisted our heads saying what
obama did was just too much for
the people now we going to take
it back and instead make you work
harder for less pay and health
benefits working dangerously
that’s our mantra things

moneterize everything even the
end of of the day say with this clown
taking what his father taught him well
take houses away from black folks
practice making sure that they
live in hell that there be no white
people america with black folk

moneterize everything take poor
peoples’ hours and don’t protect their
overtime take their unemployment benefits
kill community healthcare centers

and their art
their baseball fields
tear down schools demolish these too
for the poor

done this hour temporary
things he will wait for what you bleed
through your babies and their mamas
he will take their lunches and
give them lead in the water where
he would loose oil in spills and
drop human fatal bombs burn phosphorus
flames on other countries
just for the hell of it then for
austerity’s bright call take away senior
citizens meals on wheels lunches and

meals on wheels for senior citizens
sue for your student loan funds

limit all your expressions then give
more money to the net carriers
making sure to them over limits you pay

he will make them all glad for
rolling you over again and again

singsong if you should holler his
cohort courts will just slip you
in the pen from parking and red
light tickets done now

and then like if you black and then like
no time for that get shot and you immigrant
wait we pick fruit picking times the
alternate ones disabled ones

you your looks your jobless
fortitude and give you opium and then
he will hunt and bust and put you on a
jones so bad so deep you will say
maybe just maybe today i won’t
make it for him, not anyway
no more

then what you gonna do

he will know you

you got my back
i got yours

to my compatriots in paris by Darius Molark

do not despair
do not let them come into that
deeper in you far below pass the
graves where ignorances lie buried
in wasteful schisms of religions
the inability to conceive loves
stronger than you your
tilt let it lean taller than
limp scorches on the earth
swatching what it cannot see
creases deeper and fine inside you
folds of the human soul parisians
where we see reaching air
love breathes

well maybe… by Darius Molark

there’s a sweltering heat beyond me
i don’t know what it means

no i don’t have no license
no i don’t have no insurance
no it’s not my car

do you know what it means
do you know do you

well i got some folks left

they down south

no it’s not my car

what are we going to do

what are we going to do

i heard the shots down in south
carolina they were lonely shots
terribly against the
clear blue sea
rivers of red flowing

but that’s not unlike the
clear blue sea folks
be swimming together
each other the
clear blue sea
the clear blue sea

i got all those things if you bury me

deep looking for gold in south africa
shadow following you in chicago
in south

i got these drugs i got to do
one is for my headache you know
like in a different part of the brain
the front lobal part then that’s
where i got to take this and then
the back different part and the
medulla oblongata i got that covered
with a different drug excuse me i
won’t even brother you while you
go to the bathroom and this one is
for discomfort it makes me mad i got
to do all these things this job this
you know this life this living thing
what yall get from it i know it a
child or two to last you and continue
keep on shoots well that’s what you got
to do continue the string be a part of
it all the time i be worrying if i
going to make a dime
we be knowing this insane

i don’t understand it some people got to die

somebody knows the truth

what love is by Darius Molark

there be good and cool
christians too look
at me i am one with my
muslim and hindu brothers
we be spilling spiritual
gold sometimes not though
i be caught in dreams
deep unimaginable sisters
too and i don’t know
what i got ignore
this willowing of the
peak get coal dust queen
victoria that why your
children so black africkaner
you got diamonds down there
send skinny black men
months away from they families
hanging naked on a
rope in a deep cavern
the reason is always
extant and you must put
the book back then on
the library shelf coded by
google to be lifted with
one finger from my keyboard
wait perhaps look there
is the door you may leave
now i need you know more
that is what then love

look about you there is nothing left
even sky eagle says good-bye
stones are thrown, whispers crept
boxes are hurled with blackened remains
the season stalled next to
your coffeecup sitting at the cafe
she does not look across
paintings withered on the wall
leave scarred unrecoverable melodies