Danez Smith Poems

O California, don't you know the sun is only a god
if you learn to starve for him? I'm bored with the ocean
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ask not what your country can do for you
ask if your country is your country
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I am sick of writing this poem
but bring the boy. his new name
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one is hard & the other tried to be

one is fast & the other was faster
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the bullet is his whole life.
his mother named him & the bullet
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1. smoke above the burning bush
2. archnemesis of summer night
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somewhere, a sun. below, boys brown
as rye play the dozens & ball, jump
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Have I spent too much time worrying about the boys
killing each other to pray for the ones who do it
with their own hands?
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I did not come here to sing a blues.
Lately, I open my mouth
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this gin-heavy heaven, blessed ground to think gay & mean we.
bless the fake id & the bouncer who knew
this need to be needed, to belong, to know how
a man taste full on vodka & free of sin. i know not which god to pray to.
i look to christ, i look to every mouth on the dance floor, i order
a whiskey coke, name it the blood of my new savior. he is just.
he begs me to dance, to marvel men with the
dash
of hips i brought, he deems my mouth in some stranger's mouth necessary.
bless that man's mouth, the song we sway sloppy to, the beat, the bridge, the length
of his hand on my thigh & back & i know not which country i am of.
i want to live on his tongue, build a home of gospel & gayety
i want to raise a city behind his teeth for all boys of choirs & closets to refuge in.
i want my new god to look at the mecca i built him & call it damn good
or maybe i'm just tipsy & free for the first time, willing to worship anything i can taste.
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