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Tuesday, July 8, 2008

The Dialogue of "Manhood"

Well into the third week of their courtship, Zy and Ty’s conversations were lovely in their essence, and Tyrone recognized their loveliness right away. He cherished that period of a new relationship when everything was fresh and so precious, before time or other distractions somehow tainted them... or made them common and tragically pedestrian.

“Of course you know you’re seducing me, right?” Ty asked.

“All I know is my spirit erects whenever I speak to you,” Zaire said.

“Wow! Tell me this: If I were there, present in your presence, right this moment, what would you do?” Ty asked.

“I’d hold you very tightly. I’d cry with you. I’d kiss you. I’d tell you to believe in possibilities. I’d try to imagine why I would ever let go of holding onto you.”

“I'd let you do all of the above,” Ty grinned in spite of himself.

“I'd love to do all of the above.”

“Zy… You say these things, and they stroke my heart, man. Things, I’d secretly imagine myself hearing from someone... sometimes even before I imagined them.”

“Souls have no comprehension of space and time...they just meet when the time is right … and when the two vessels housing them are receptive to it, then gravitation takes control.”

“There’s a depth in that, man. Reminds me of one of my fave songs, that line: “Pulling closer… sweet as the gravity...” from The Closer I Get To You... by Roberta and Donny.”

“OH. MY. GOD! Yeah, we're gettin' married!!! I can't believe you pulled that song out of thin air, Tyrone!”

“Perhaps our souls danced to it, in separate places before.”

“You don’t understand. That song is one of my FAVORITE songs of all time!”

“Same here, baby. It’s a classic fave.”

“Well maybe, just perhaps... it's time our souls danced to it, together.”

“Oh, you fuckin' poet! I’m rubbing my inner thigh... as I lie here, imagining it's your beautiful hand,” Tyrone heard himself say.

“It’s a matter of time before we can rub each others legs, hands...hearts...”

“Lovely thought, my Lovely Man.”

“God! It’s 1:37AM! It’s 1:37 on Tuesday night/morning! How does this happen to us?”

“We’re both a little insane. But you’re right. It’s late. We’re being crazy. It’s time for us to be sane again!”

“So, my favorite crazy brotha, are we finally gonna get together this weekend?”

“Sounds like destiny’s plan for us.”

“Good. Cool. Cause all this romantic rambling we do is leaving me very hard and frustrated.”

“So, go to bed.”

“I am in bed!”

“Well, go to sleep!”

“OK. I’m off to sleep. I can't tell you how much I wish you were here right beside me.”

“Sleep tight. And goodnight, my husband-to-be.”

“I hope that was the sane part of you saying that!”

“It’s late. I’m never sane at this hour.”

“It’s all a matter of time. I promise to play that song at our first candle lit dinner, Ty.”

“Yeah-yeah. Whatever! Now go to sleep, you crazy-sexy-romantic-poet-man!”

“Well, are you gonna kiss me goodnight, or what?”

“Zy! Zy, we’re not in junior high. I don’t do kisses over the phone,” Ty laughed, yet he was strangely enchanted by the idea of it.

“I could fall asleep kissing those lips of yours, every single night.”

“Damn! Damn you for making me smile... and making me hard... and making me dream.”

“Well, I might have to take things in hand between now and our next conversation. But just so you know: I’ll be thinking of only you, baby.”

“Such flattery might just get you the draws. Goodnight, my sweet sexy-poet.”

Zaire was full of sweet sexy poetic things, and he was never shy of reciting them to Ty. And after a while, it didn’t feel as if he were just running a line on you. He was actually being romantic. Zaire Monk needed that outlet, and the object to express it, just as much as Tyrone needed to experience it.

Is there anyone, woman or man on the planet who didn’t want to feel completely, utterly, unabashedly desired?

* * *

From The Novel, Manhood The Longest Moan, by L.M. Ross

The Stubborn Principles of Belief

To go
In things. I
Believe in Autumn
The green leaves turn rust
And o
range out of Summer's fatigue.

Believe the

Sound petering from
Coltrane’s h
Horn ... Can heal
ost anyone’s failing rhythms. I believe
ou can can feel chord changes on your skin,
Like a baby’s breath... o
r a sudden shift in wind.

The wind
s music, you see?
I believe that this rhythm

Of my heartbeat is made by
A playfully insistent

I believe,
Just a little,
In everyone's gods
And even more in the passion
With which people praise them.

The boundlessness
Of God to be inherent in
The sound of children's laughter,

When it’s free. I believe that sex and
Laughter creates its own rapturous music.
I believe that my breath makes these minuscule
Sparks... and then ... flames... when I’m singing.

In what
Nietzche said:
That without music,
Life would be a profound mistake.


That Angels, Spirits
And Deities make soothing
Sounds. They gather around in
Cliques, s
peak in whispering tongues
And t
hey insist on traveling with me...
And at night, I hear then quaking, fluttering
Like flights and flocks of feeding birds.

Believe in
The power
Of my words, and
Deeds can sweep and move
Across the terrain of souls and beings I’ll never know.


That to read
A poem is to weave
And sew the tapestry of your own
Infinite reality... a
nd inside the mirror of
Words, y
ou can discover your own affinity.

Every human
Being is a singer, singing
Its own unique solo, and every
Heart... is... a... drummer... which
Bangs, and clangs and sounds in an echo
Forever, and ever and ever in the Universe.

In this as much
As the richness of my
Own Manifestos. I believe
So religiously in collecting
And keeping and giving back.
I believe less in fables, and more
In the stories of my actions. I believe
For each of my beautiful mistakes, for
Each of my most gorgeous of failures, there
Lies within.... a d e e p e r l e s s o n.

I believe
Even harder in
The sweetness of
Aspirations. I believe in
The strength and the willfulness
To succeed, even in the ignored
And weakened spines of Black men like me.


Believe in
Shimmering warriors
Wet with sweat. I believe
In Kingdoms, in Karma , and distance.


See, I've
Always been

A believer in Things.
Maybe I'm a
Hopeless romantic, or
Maybe, just a little d
eranged. I believe

uestions and
In answers which
all or tumble slowly....
Like autumn l
eaves tumble,
Upon the softest winds of change.