(A Duet for Howard Zinn and Eugene McDaniels)
It dawned on us :
the price of sugar
that obscure meat and bustle of
the blurry horsemen circling my budget /pleasure/so-pale
Let us not destroy these wonderful machines radiating from homes, spindling and groaning, embroidering the heart with sorrow as big as I dare Spar (beige cloth over a brick tower to suggest change/smuggling/ the quarantine that was also home to grail as brittle and intimate as share farms go up to where
the principal of air broke fat choirs into perfect crowds, mimes, rich ministers
and that we craved the premium, we craved the cure
Labor is a funny word for vesseling, say, take me with you on your best carved cane I can get invisible-sane, even, female, a lithe sempahore on the path to the disorientation of sweet violence...
Which is when the line became
you are the man, you are my other country dear hero, dear headless hero of the nearby.., the lord is black, I wonder if he exists, nice work if you can get it, and so on, until the sugar was too easy to want and to not want: on the sheets of brief attention I built a hill of it, an agile legend, dumping cannons into its basin like Polaroids taken while jumping rope, the impossible coordination of a Gandy Dancer adapting to leisure with regret/ privilege. It's all only propaganda for other sex. Fall in love, fix us, fuck. Only when you're lucky, the erotic is not sexual or somewhere else.
