Nor the things they (setting) dim up
north of the thinking, the timing such
white phosphorous bombs were dropped off like pilgrims on the porch of my momma country
(scream uncle)
Where did all this harvest come from, did you grow it,(people in sorrow) did you pick it, did you pick up, and I put it down
in my machines made of words this one turns power against itself, proudest power, creating an absence wherein you rummage for a surrender so complete it negates itself like asking nothing from others and imposing nothing on others but being others when you need them, and where did you gather seeds and where did you plant and how did they grow and was this survival or a fairytale interrogation or do you underestimate the tribute this dalliance will demand or love the tyrant love the ruler love the king-- A Free Man of Color, now through January 9th only, is playing at the Lincoln Theater, a re-examination of what the Louisiana purchase took from New Orleans which is where I'm from during fever season even tiptoeing over the myth it woke up covered in aluminum in hopes of communicating with somedebut planet to say come pick me up and take me to that theater I will tell them how I was there and what it was like and the price and the seamstress by night nightbus by night white phosphorous bombs were dropped keep your promise, write home
(And in which direction does this most appall/appeal/upheaval all over
a brief history of grace
