Trailer #1 (of a real book coming soon): WVP Sampler Number Three (FILE UNDER BOOK COMMERCIALS 2016)

WEST VINE PRESS BOOK RELEASE DATES (Fall 2016) October 11th. West Vine Press #3 Sampler October 25th. Slow Living by Kenyatta Jp Garcia. November 1st. Poetic Poverty by Andrew K. November 8th. As…

Source: Trailer #1 (of a real book coming soon): WVP Sampler Number Three (FILE UNDER BOOK COMMERCIALS 2016)

Updated WVP Book Release Schedule

Check out the release dates from West Vine Press which also include my upcoming book – Slow Living.


West Vine Press Moves Words Around To Make Real Books For Real Human Beings.

Source: Updated WVP Book Release Schedule

New Work at Unlikely Stories

who here remains who never rose wild

from captive sleep
which traps
hope in dreams?

whose vision is anything less than a weed?


to make the fairytale complete,
there must be a sacrifice. . . ”

Voices of Bettering American Poetry 2015 — Kenyatta JP Garcia

Do you feel that your writing is necessarily assumed to be autobiographical? How do you feel about this assumption? I would assume that my writing is read as being autobiographical even when it’s particularly disjointed, disorienting … [Read More]

Source: Voices of Bettering American Poetry 2015 — Kenyatta JP Garcia

Take Place

Been rubbernecking. Keeping an eye out for where time took an odd moment to add an extra scar to the road.


The last ditch that took some effort to carve. To assure a certain waylay for someone just needing to get away.


The truth for all its power sets everybody else free but itself. Instead chooses transformation. Settles for concealment. To be protected from witnessing itself.


Can’t turn my back on myself but my back also won’t look me in my face so what good’s a back anyway? If it didn’t come with the body why would anyone even bother having one?


The faults furthered the cause of the tectonic shifts. Line breaks will always be a part of this world. Each side is a stanza. The earth quakes suddenly understanding another version needs to take place. This place.

Tongues for Days

purling this timidity into

cities translated by clouds

as forever rests

on gossipers’ tongues.


gulls been fending for

and fending off

longer than this shyness

ever existed.


electricity’s been static


discovered nothing

but an experience.


didn’t go / didn’t get


but took in a tear

on receiving news.


sheltered sadness

fostered it

for sake of something.


parrots had nothing to repeat.

mockingbirds eased of mimicry.


quieted, calmed –

reflecting on the essentiality

of being

another animal.



descent comes closer to home

to find the core –

bypass wounds, scars, sore spots

to dismay of symptoms

distracting the cure


in fear, death rises again



breaking out

heaven from hell

fury from fate

injustice amused


with a distaste being mutual between

needle and cloth

thread – the only common friend –

binds both until

the job is through.



crammed into the corners of the mind –

holding up the walls of theories never to be

a fly holding back the boulder

telling Sisyphus

give up the task


what worse could possibly come?


rain hungers for a face

tongues for a drop


Afro-Nowism When The Future Feels Too Far Away

now as much as ever we need space even more.

steel and superpowers.
we been magical
but sorcercery hasn’t been enough.
oh lawd, can a nigga get a force field!
let’s talk that real pillow talk
holding onto hope
when thoughts and prayers have failed

let’s snuggle up into cybernetic fantasies of nanotech
smarter than the biology of fingers
and tin of badges
oh jesus, how much stronger we got to get?
whom does the singularity include?
why couldn’t creation have just been a myth?

electric memories keep eyes lit
all night long computing
while chains keep bodies in place,
while cells provide shelter
when the streets fill up with the phobia generations in the making.
so long in the making time travel has more dangers
than the edge of the universe.
send thoughts and prayers to parallel dimensions.
maybe they’ll be of some use there.
maybe the horizon holds another event
the roads of this dystopia
have yet to find.
what good are the pistons without the gas and the grease?
what’s a mission mean
as acid rain tears at the hood
revealing rust and the algorithms
of a nation
forcing you to drive onward?
what’s left?
what else is there when only space seems safe?
when to leave is the best defense?
because to stay is conflict.
everyday is a casualty.
the struggle is actually an assault.