a question of rain.
to ask for rain is to know you are already dead. that a dead boy is still dead when filled with what isn’t his. that a black boy is a dead boy: he won’t own shit either. to be one swallow away from breath, one warning away from prophet. to be the browse and browsed (over), a talent of mouth. to remember the happy ending in every book. to forget they were all white. to name desire as everyone who hasn’t killed you yet. to know a dead boy forgot to talk a black boy forgets his drain so a dead black boy shuts up when his mouth is full. knows the question was never rain just a thing close to water.
 what he means to say is:
i was lonely once. then again. then again. then again.
by Jayson Smith
Jayson Smith is a writer & choreographer hailing from the Bronx, NY. His work is published/forthcoming in various journals & anthologies, including Kinfolks Quarterly, boundary2: an international journal of literature and culture, and FreezeRay Press. Jayson facilitates a weekly writing workshop with the LouderARTS project in Manhattan, & is on staff for Union Station Magazine. Find him on Twitter to talk Beyoncé & poems & other, less important things.