Throwblack, Crow's back, as a filthy scarejet so clean on the outside, you look fly on it and copy that compliment with some other jive like the continent tin man. There are no wizards in Africa, just hazards and stuff, save us, teach us to count our own gold one smile at a time
I have discovered you, now you exist (speckled yellow with rape and fever and the otherness high
Can you pass me the spirits) or surround me (the spear, the pirouette of angels and jailers and no fear and no skit, or
Instead of citing history, cite the future as evidence, source. I will exist, you will discover me. Otherwise you'll wreck the subject with hesitation. You'll ruin my puppet, my pulpit, my opinion, my golden smile.
I made it as light as possible
(body of bamboo sticks, arms made of trashbags with duct tape (rubber made): puppet, creases in his pinstripes, torso of chicken wire
Branding Iron sorting out the symbols on his tattoo to spell
Some shiny headline, like, Solar System Slips Back in Time
(African meteorite, or the media. I will come forward as one or the other. I will describe you, then you'll exist too. That's the situation. A country with no treaties, rising
