Posts tagged Black Queer.

no kingdom by carl phillips

So little wakes you — why
should a little rain,
or my leaving 

to stand under it
and naked
because I can, 

all neighbors down,
at last down,
for the dreaming, and 

every wasp — daily, the yard’s
returned to 

whatever shingle or board
roofs their now
thrumless heliport. 

you’ve left 

your glass on the porch-railing
—neglect, as
what is fragile, seen 

but not at this hour empty:
the way disease does 

the body, the way desire
can, or how God
is said to, 

slowly rain fills the glass.
Never mind
that no kingdom was ever won 

by small gestures:
I’m tipping the rainwater out.
The glass I’ll put 

here, where you’ll find it.

carl phillips
from the devotions

steeple by carl phillips

Maybe love really does mean the submission of power
I don’t know. Like pears on a branch, a shaking branch, 
in sunlight, 4 o’clock sunlight, all the ways we do harm, 
or refrain from it, when nothing says we have to…. Shining, 
everyone shining like that, as if reality itself depended 
on a nakedness as naked as naked gets; on a faith in each 
other as mistaken as mistaken tends to be, though I have 
loved the mistake of itstill do; even nowas I love
the sluggishness with which, like ceremony or, not much 
different, any man who, having seen himself at last, 
turns at first awayhas tothe folded black and copper 
wings of history begin their deep unfolding, the bird itself, 
shuddering, lifts up into the half-wind that comes after
highersoon desire will resemble most that smaller thing, 
late affection, then the memory of it; and then nothing at all.

carl phillips 
new republic vol. 244 issue 8, p. 49

modern day black gay - episode 1: are you a top or a bottom?
the each-other project

after a regrettable social app hookup, malcolm has to deal with the unexpected repercussions.

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6 days ago on 10/15/14 at 07:07pm

I have this longing to live in one place and call it home forever, but some part of me seems to require longing, rather than the satisfaction of that longing.

carl phillips
bomb magazine interview by nick flynn

"So The Mind Like A Gate Swings Open" by Carl Phillips ›


When it comes to what, eventually, it must come to,

don’t forget to say to yourself Has it come to this again

already? Look a little lost, maybe

                                                    but unsurprised.

Sometimes it feels like being a carousel horse, but

with all the paint gone strange-like, all the wood gone

driftwood, all the horses I’ve corralled inside me set free,

confused now, because now what? The snow fell like

hope when it’s been forsaken, just before the wind shifts— 

then the wind shifts, the snow flies upward… I love you

means what, exactly? In the end, desire may turn out

to be no different from any other song—

                                                               sing, and be at

last released from it. Not so long ago as I’d like to think, 

I used to get drunk in parking lots with strangers: we’d park,

we’d drink and—and didn’t think what to call it, the rest

that came after, what is a thing like that worth calling: he

took me into his arms? he held me? I know longing’s

a lot like despair: both can equal everything you’ve ever

hoped for, if that’s how you want it—sure, I get that. What’s

wrong with me, I used to ask, but usually too late, and not

meaning it anyway. He touches me, or I touch him, or don’t.

chromatic black by carl phillips

Of the many things that he used to say to me, there are two
I’m certain of: You taste like a last less-than-long summer afternoon
by the shore just before September
; and

You’re the kind of betrayal, understand, I’ve been waiting for,
all my life
. When did remembering stop meaning
to be lit from within—bodily—
and the mind, briefly flickering
again out—wasn’t that forgetting? Somewhere
abandon’s still just a word to be turned away from, as from a man
on fire. Remorse, I think,
is not regret. How new, as in full of chance, the nights here
still can seem to be,
if you keep your eyes closed. Here’s a lullaby:
“No more bondage, no triumph either, no more the bluing waves
of shame…”

carl phillips
ploughshares | spring 2013

Not queer like gay. Queer like, escaping definition. Queer like some sort of fluidity and limitlessness at once. Queer like a freedom too strange to be conquered. Queer like the fearlessness to imagine what love can look like…and pursue it.

Brandon Wint (via ethiopienne)

(via stetx)