the miracle


Dear God

My window tells me that I can fly
but just like those that have lept before me
my wings are but invisible hope
dreamed in nightmares
by evil children
whose stoic faces
speak but still say nothing
of reason and love
of should have regrets
and just
in spite
of aging irrelevance
the greatest reason to live remains
as just an object stowed away
in a repair shop
on Rainier Avenue South

death as the conclusion of life
or an ellipsis…
as cessation of time
or cessation of things
is really all that matters
as the world ends
calling symbolic reference
to a sacred endurance
a bowl of cleansing water
made of holy wood
old people and
old clothes
worn souls retreated into silence
they love the church
great halls of fearful wondrous grace
on lonely pews of worn patience
and flickered hope
flawless pageantry
believes the love of promise
these private tears
this Holy presence
the Knowledge of Love
and of Evil
of good
and of hatred
dark spiritual forces
from beneath the cross
beyond the veil
of just who we are
in that secret room
after the last judgement
of rigorous Holiness
as we listened to Silence
in upper rooms

abashed by your
omnipotent impotence
right now
make me a miracle
right now
right now
and then
I do believe
and then
I do believe



I called my mother’s phone number even though
she died last year. If she would have answered I
don’t know what I’d have said. At night
I often think of her as the vibrations inside the walls
of my room make disappearing sounds like invisible earwigs
behind the refrigerator

She came from a generation of first. A generation that
overcame Jim Crow and laughed in the white faces of
their oppressors as they showed us that we were
just as good or better. The first negro (as they were called in those days)
to graduate from the University of Washington’s School of Nursing,
the first negro Head Nurse at Harborview Hospital,
the first negro to live at her luxury retirement apartment,
and it was not easy to be the first
and yet they did it, she did it, with grace, with
compassion and with Love, even for her oppressors

It’s the number I called from the principals office, the bus station,
from Tai Tung, the crack house, and the King County jail,
a number, 767.4792 , Disconnected.
disconnected from that voice of assurance,
disconnected from that powerful force of Love
disconnected from that Will to be the first
disconnected from that home
known larger than life
where Big things happened
known only as a child

and now, since the Love has all poured out
elapsed and sifted to the bottom of
the hour glass of life
for the first time in my life
I feel completely alone.

Untitled Poem # 58

the memory
of my penis
knows lonely Women
dismissive transexuals
& popular whores
even the manicured toes of that
buxom Nubian soprano I sat next to
in the church choir, where even then
we imagined folding her soft breast
beneath the careful lace of her $200 bra
beneath precision eyeliner & thickened lashes

her toes
painted, polished, presented at once
this Woman as in dreams immortal
in Holiness, in supplicant gestures
embraced in the bourgeois
detailed ellipsis of perdition
kissing the ass of God
ordained my faceless lips
forging my tongue in fire
gathered in the upper room
of her nakedness, aghast
and yet unbeknownst of my erection

this angel of heavens
this last vagina in
obsequious compliance
experience this finger fuck examination
searching coochie moisture
moving in wetness
waiting folded flesh


trapped between floors
this room of silence
so causally entered
day to day
up and down
the floors
boxed residences
also known as
the size of a someone else’s foyer
as an entrance
to a minds claustrophobic
the burning numbing cold
of no one knows I’m here
the shriek of being alone
talking to a speaker
manned by personal
impersonators working
for deceased bureaucracies
apparatchiks of dead communist states

once home
scurry to find
their places
like musical chairs
on a stove top
these roaches
my friends
they know their place
the smell
of African curry
of latent unwashed pussy
beneath colorful robes
these adornments
traces of the past year
wet muddy minus the vacuum
of my latest insincerity
I know the watchers
reverse watch looking
through the television
programming each of us
with Iphone frequency
false appendages of another’s
banal consumerism
forces rising
as socialism on
my favorite TV space drama
where money hunger and want
are things of the past
make me a bottle
of Jack

new images

a neighbors flower…

Mojo Blackman

Juju Black man
I know you got an
angry phallus
swingin in your
favorite boxers

avenge your Mother
& your Father 2
He’s got a lot of nerve
for takin you down
with no lubrication

the usual suspects
the Holy Father
baptized by homophobia
& the Boy Scouts best

superiority nation
likes to get it
in the station
eternal rapture
bout this simulation

Casey Jones
he was a
mad hatter
bent over
smiling face
only anal matters

I sleep alone
holdin the pillow
to the light
I sleep alone
.38 gripped tight

I’m in Love
with the nu-Nubian
Queen who longs
to serve her
New Master in waiting

boys grown up
to be killers
army ordered
switch to automatik

know it like
because you oughta
Solomon’s great,
great, great, great,
Great grand

Mojo Black man
twist it with your left hand
pimp it wit ya right toe
tell ya Moma shake it low
tell ya baby squeeze it hard
singin to the LAwd LAwd LAwd

a church in the storm…..

solo piano August 12 2012

solo piano August 12 2012 by rodger pegues E…!

he wasn’t

Imagehe wasn’t al queda

or an angry Arab

a high school drop out

or a mental patient

I remember the time the IRS garnished my whole check

I told my case officer I’d hafta meet him in the parking lot

that way he could know my terror

why…? murder a 6 year old girl and violently harm so many others in cold blood?

we have bestowed upon him our sacred 15 minutes of inobscurity

like Hinckley & others he has accepted our covenant

the truth is…

given the perfect storm of private despair

at any moment

any one of us can


and this is what happens

and this is what truly frightens us, he could have been anyone,

your neighbor or mine…

and if we think

for a moment that our communal evil has no consequences……

if we think our rub shoulders, cliqueky, insincere, disingenuous, let’s do lunch, society shares no complicity

you’re wrong,,…

just be kind to one another

or watch your back…

black az…

black az

I like women with
sanitary assholes
& rounded cheeks that jiggle,
under cotton pajama bottoms
climbing apartment stairs
to serve my endless addiction

that night
I fucked her
until tears of joy
filled her glossy brown eyes
beyond love
beyond relationships
flesh worshiping flesh
in spiritual agony

insert french kissed
tongued booty hole
betrays the intellectualism
of an emotional response
E-Coli interrogatory
taste buds bursting
you must love every part
of her……….this night

the 1st time I finger fucked
a girl in a Cornish practice room
behind a black baby grand
I pulled my finger from her
nappy hole
only to find it coated with a
white milky discharge
this was all I’d ever known
so I thought pussy was nasty
and that pussy juice was foul
putrid and white
until I met my favorite hoe
on Rainier Avenue who’s pussy
glistens with purity and taste
as pure as the morning dew

it’s like coming home dirty
and washing your dick in the sink
in the bathroom, no ones talking
she passes out drunk and ask me in
the morning “did you fuck me”

all the pussy
all the dope
all the booty
& extra towelettes