King of Kreations
Onliest man who lay hands on me. Pointer finger pad between my
Pinky knuckle cool on cheekbone. God of precision, blade at my
for a half hour, you love me this way. Together we discover what I
from my folks—widows peak, dandruff, hair growing fast in
Claude, so damn beautiful, I can count on one hand the times I’ve
directly in your face, for fear I might never come back. You
knower of me.
To get right I come to you. When I’m finna interview. When I’m
or party. When I must stunt, I come to you—
It is mostly you, but, not always. After all you gotta eat too.
So sometimes it’s Percival, face like stones, except when he’s
Sometimes it’s Junior who sings the whole time he lines up the
No matter how soft my body or how many eyes find it and peel
when I walk in the shop in the chair, I am of them.
Not brother. Not sister. When he wields
the razor and takes me
low it’s like when a woman gets close to
the mirror to slide the lipstick
on slow. Draws a line so perfect
she cuts her own self from the clay.
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