Wednesday, October 29, 2014

I only want you for sex (letter from the field)

The waltz on the edge of solipsism      another     golden  grill   in a  wall of blood   some  say    the thrashing stillness  of   motherhood   is an anti-lust     a   purification   ritual      don't trust   them     they    are the unwed   mothers  who    flock   to courtrooms    looking  for suspects   and order is reckless      Never confuse  me with a feminist  or manifest destiny      a few  steps   ahead   in the   oppression    I   am       visited   by   a vision    of   Horace Tapscott's  The Giant is Awakened  on the courtroom  turntable     and all mugshots   are public  domain so I  find a painless MLK in Memphis and frame him   in  gold  and I'm the lightshow (dj)   and all the   innocent ones   await    the fumbling  violin    and stare  blank   at   blonde ambition   pinups        and     a revisionist  history   of love       is     penned right there in the stairway between  myth and desire    where a woman   learns  to admit  hers   before   it devours  another   moment  in  the affair       it is better, some days,  to be terrible   in the service of  reverberating     mirrors        show them   how   it  feels       to have a goal   an agenda    that you're never  afraid  to speak   of      and   duck     when   they  realize   it's  a  decoy      we're not at war with our own  people      but Hollywood had   called

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Monday, October 27, 2014

You bear the illusions of others as if they were your own

now repeat that into this nest of microphones   everyone's a phony  

You bear the illusions of others as if they are your own

You bear the illusions of others as if they are your own

You bear the illusions of others as if they are your own


I get bored calling everyone cousin , for example , when there's no blood

I like what Yoko Ono says about madness,  that it's  performance, for example

a form you channel when bearing the illusions of others as if they are your  own  

a poem arriving like  sand  through the palm of glass hours   and   shattering   like   sermons  

a man I love distracted  from my naked body by a commercial for chicken wings

the last prince of non-violence

Saturday, October 25, 2014

The best seat in the house

Everybody's dead, so they can say what's really on their minds

Rhyme you outta  jail in time   to steal your rhymes    

How they love to use dialectics in a way to make you feel things that are not true

Like reticence stretches into abandon on the skin of confidence or confident desperation       the difference

                between life and death is finally  coming into question,  in the most optimistic  way  the plague is finally    Immortality



Break for war

Break for epidemic

Break for race  card         I am   a woman       woman is the nigger of the world     break   into her    for    her         what forest   of motives   this    sure     thing      

Remember the time   when we fell in  love   /     break for Michael     Jackson

Jesse Jackson  is full of shit,      break   for him       in the break    for     satisfaction        happy cantaloupe   /  island   break    for nourishment              

Never give  a sucker and even   break       ever     even    in the break   for courtship

break for judgement     caught  you   a   case    break   for    winning       glove     as vague  as breaking   with   tradition      what does that bullshit   even     mean    /   break   for translation         you   put  it down    and I pick   it up again         by   the time          the  tongue      the miner's    silent   confession   breaks    for          someone's  mother         breaks   to  blame    her         to  point   somewhere     like    forever       and   break   it into   images   savages    salvaged       made up of the thoughts   you   made   up  of the vibrations  that were made into  you        is  to   make   up   infinite future          and    break    for   life      slave /  wife     correlation   breaks   for   massa's    rape      at   sundown  1700 and something   forsaken      and   someday  far   later     in an earlier  way      this  great    mind     violator   meeting  violated  in the middle    with a tender   smile   of  misrecognition  (oneness)  tilted  like     prey   and prayer    away   from the mercy  to call it   forward    all,      Haven't you heard?