If this ain’t noble?

Raise the cups up
if this is noble..
as I did not
stutter or mumble
in my supposition
delivered in
impeccable diction
this ain’t fiction
or harlotry
while begging
no pardons…
observe the squadron
frozen in time
words in passing
sent in the wind
for my collective
of the Noble.

The noble ones
you can’t hold
or fold them…

this ain’t Texas,
this is Chicago.

We don’t languish
on park benches
we hit switches,
garnering benedictions
while not
fitting the description
of vile stereotypes,
wielding bonds deeper
than DNA helixes,

we stay clean
like Felix…
no odd couples

know the math…

dap in fire lines,
communing on the Black top
reclining
on Churchyard steps
like we are
blessed
known
not to fold
against notions
of defeat…
we are unique,
congruent
like the
four sides
of the Square…
as when narratives
are spoken
they are
glowing.