Sadness Is Not Fair
i eat the air
and the cling of your
vagina after my climax
and an after the rain drive
across the dripping mountains above
port-of-spain and a sunday walk
through morning waves’ wash on tobago beach
and the sound of coltrane and i eat
milton nascimento, the quiver of his voice,
the suppleness of it, sinewyly climbing into a
realm of distinct sadness brasil calls saudade,
moaning unspeakably beautiful melodies, this
man was born to seductively shoulder the endurance
of pain like the ache in billie’s tortured
knowing, knowing there is always, no matter
the sweetness, always a tasteless after-love
that will unflinchingly flay happiness’ thin
fragileness, a fragileness that can seldom
wholly survive reality’s roughness
i drink disjointed memories
i walk down the sidewalk with an armful
of written words, humming aloud trane’s “peace
on earth,” my hard won serenity
at that moment simple as the dull
purple luster of a ripe plum about to be bitten
into or whatever else one finds delicious,
admiring the stylish way we wear troubles
one would think our anguish was a tailored shirt
instead of just a disappointing moment
we turn into music
i do not understand portuguese
i do not understand why i am
thinking these thoughts
sadness is so unfair