Thursday, May 24, 2018

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Girl 61

The  leash   gold plated      around a case  of Colt 45 and we dragged the gravel  from Tiger Rag to Durag at the museum to give  it drum and summer’s hand while Redd Foxx is     squinting Sanford in his junkyard curses hubcaps      and Gary Coleman keeps tackling the same Adidas thief in the   Fox Hills Mall parking lot but you are the last child star      to ride dialect sweetly and keep your wardrobe of snipers and    snow ethically sourced from newsprint speeches and abandoned rose quartz    mines
we   can upend    a rarer crystal   over it
    we can    tear a viande factory   to bits
                                                   and call your number where it is in the IChing     to the task of truth of singing fasting and prayer         in a reasonable low and don’t you wanna lash out    and seduce someone aloof with me and August Wilson won’t   you come back mouth full of silk and

hacking   chains

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Free White and Twenty One

During slavery, the children with white mothers and black fathers were often killed. The children with white fathers and black mothers were often raised in the house if they appeared pale enough to pass for nothing, subtle ghosts of confederate lust. A constant reminder of his failure to please his wife or distract his daughter enough to deliver her from the temptation to mate with a black man and enjoy it, such a blow to the ego and the power structure on plantations was dangerous, and what if the child was beautiful too, and smart in new ways. How much blasphemy was safe in an atmosphere where rebellion was always a notion away. But dressed in a white man’s name and DNA, a child born of either elicit desire or casual rape, as long it was the white man’s choice, was safe, spared, helped remind everyone of his terror and terrible lure. Under that disastrous social contract, I might have been some kind of animal sacrifice. Centuries later when my grandparents who had sent my mother to catholic school her whole life and are strict catholics themselves for the most part, decided sin could make an exception and suggested my mother have an abortion when she was pregnant with me, a white woman pregnant with a black man’s child, nothing had really moved in the collective consciousness but the rule of law.  To condemn a parent’s rebellion on one level and cherish it on another is the sacred hypocrisy of genetics, we grow out of it, become whole. So when account for my mother as satire I also count her as accidental saint, fellow runner. There are so many ways to run away from home and in saying no to that abortion my mother, free, white, and twenty one in Iowa, became an underexamined form of fugitive, a fugitive’s understudy, a white woman trafficking blackness, and I got to live. God Bless America.

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Monday, May 14, 2018

Black Spring: Or Nah?

It’s  the beginning of begetting;  all our symbols are speaking    double talk. The caustic swirl   of it favors misfits for translation   and I am very harrowing and beget the insistent   ghetto of overcoming, turning rogue as Rich Manhattan.   Hold up, remember him? He wore a conk on campus in the two thousands   and walked like a nigga ballerina and called Homer’s Iliad numb emergency    number one in lecture that day and I could feel him protecting me just by existing     I laughed as we were both exiled from Greece by the cokehead professor no one can ever fire, not even Persephone.   We were a sight to behold, all of the black beauty and trauma quietly locking bicycles to starving trees   with the rest of the elite slobs of opportunity, we were walking brass ladders. What happened to Rich Manhattan?  That was his name then. That was his name. That was a black man’s name in Americanism. Respiration shuffle, no rage where there is style. We  are the floating graves of your cities and finding begets needing even though we don’t want you no more. That night we listened to Al Green   together and pretended Berkeley was the Savoy and gave up soy and gave up rhetoric and gave up gatorade and gave up rome and gave up noses and just laughed   as the smoke dripped from our hair with the histrionic intensity of their branding irons