Sunday, February 27, 2011

Suite Suiteblack

He said poppies are dreams that lose their rank in a harem (appeasement, confetti made from the skins of green apples)

She said popsongs by men who lose their rank in a dream (but I don't blame them)

He said balloons left over from the impromptu festival, the configuration of flags (two hourglass bottles of cream soda on a marble countertop) Harlem is Nowhere

She said propaganda left over from the film that was too realistic. ('Our Town" with a black cast.)

He said is that the one about the drag queens imitating Madonna in Paris

She said your ideas came from men who duck their lines in your diagram

Cowards, He said

(The word play between them gets very intense when there are fewer feelings to confuse things)

You're the coward, she said, of my dreams. Picturing their bare feet stepping the poppies on the way to Oz. Beacon/beacon, soft crumbling tonic in a slowing down voice which speeds up to believe you're in the word with me

Ne t'inquiete pas

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Primavera with three graces

Anyway, it's about going to the movies (To not notice you were holding hands until you let go) (Let the letting go happen first then

(I've been paying attention to sequence, where better stories are out of it)

Storefront mangled by wolves and televisions. It smells like cantaloupe when you slow down a fancy and the fan is on, in summer, some spinning, some pale orange tumbling backwards. Some letters with accents on them, left over from a spelling bee

He told me words like trees were abstract words, arbor slurred on a map our birds splatter the myth of
shelter under cars.

Maybe we are flying and they are standing still and the river controls the wimpy light of reflection by only letting us witness the abilities we can actually handle

Wrap our minze around

What do you really see, the body wrapped in its own warmth at the change of seasons or that warmth is an abstract word which produces its sensation more than describing it. Sad movie. Romantic Movie. Sad, romantic movie. Serious movie. Swift mood. Warm move to other galaxy with no kitsch whatsoever. Is what we did

Before this I thought words like justice were abstract words

All words are abstract words

Even the dancer, when she sleeps through the onlyness of her being/language

then wakes up and approaches the mirror where delimiting, dim lit

There are nine poems that end with something burning, and just one life wherein to fetch the water or become an addict, pretend it isn't there to keep a destination in tact

Roam the streets and stripes looking a black spring in the feeling

The only way to learn a word is to learn its behavior, its motion. May your slum have mercy on our souls. Illiterate baby, fluent in blankness, skillfully pointing at every window for the thrill of repeating the brand new feeling

my home my home my home my home my home my homme my homme, my how many,

keeps turning up

Friday, February 25, 2011

Hi, Hunter

Step and Fetch it

Step into the air

Nothing is trite along a river

Take my apples and sell them in the city

And you will have more money

And you will be more happy

Without that debilitating focus on regional and ethnic concerns



buy land, buy land

Wait a minute, what does that have to do with jazz

Morning of the redbird (callout)


or along a long long gospel song

Amazing Grace reconsidered as something radiant and grotesque

Race record

The sound a register makes to count up the skirt of

this beautiful relaxed woman

Did you see the clock while she was on?

a line for Lyons

for elegant people

Each time it felt different; each time it felt the same

As when you construct intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

My Message and My Missiles and My Myth/ Soul

If you say that I am a writer
I will reply that I am an actor
If accuse me of being an actor
I will say, no, I am a writer

If you say that I am a Negro
I will escape
by saying of course not, I am an American

But if you accuse me of being an American
I will then dodge behind the fact that I am a Negro

I'm also an entertainer

So once again
If you say that I am a literary figure
I will say that I am an entertainer
If you say that I'm an entertainer I will say no I am a clown

Grits and Hominy

Sacred garden is to carpet as cinema is to an absolute/ break with traditional time

in which we never stop building up and topping our own

summit, soma, summa cum laude

heteroclite objects

another real space, as perfect, as meticulous

Which we think we enter, but from which we are excluded by the very fact that we enter

An avenue set

A boulevard set



A hierarchy of tombs

Until the rediscovery of Dionysian life abolishes time in the mode of the festival

Sophisticated sorrow

Juvenile so-so

A Nile,

or so-so

We are inaccessible to its ravages, its principals, princes, prances, series, tresses, grids, pharaohs, pennants, you're perfect, proof of vestigial seasons, you perfect forgetting as the highest form of memory.

Espionage will not take the place of adventure, police will not take the place of pirates

in this overcrowded neighborhood by the sigh, we laugh the wide business its narrow passages into no where is

Monday, February 21, 2011

Archives by the Fire (a lo-coup)



Bye-bye Blackbird

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Ghetto copper helicopter overheard, overhead

It's only a paper moon
Dark winner in the center
use your vicinity
when there are no vaccines left, or devout offerings besides
what a pilot says with the lips of housewife isn't miserable or
delighted or flying or fleeing the scene of a domestic orbit to be by dawn
what a suspect is left with besides the scenes between spread legs either running or remembering

Making vivid the space since/...Since time has officially ended, wherein we can finally live like it

Friday, February 18, 2011

Missiles/Better get it in your soul

When that fish is real
and moves the crow into the air
triumphant because why; because I said, so
benevolent robot, no bottle is too exotic for the electromagnetic soda company so-what, so-what
I'm trying to say is
the pipes were ungalvanized in hopes of making pure water
talk to your wives like lovers
in hopes of making the lure leur

(is) it a prayer, or are these acts of benediction/
it's natural history I guess--Is it a prayer or are these acts of benediction
to target, to hang in the air where you're perfect
displaced manipulation of a sure/shock tells time of how

The bridges are blocked by sources, rumor cowards
or are these prayers of benediction bent over pop songs until the taste of cola and slow code pays them like it isn't there

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Heir Apparent

Under this grubby February sun
(small sounds precisely recorded)

Origin of the word sheltering

from scield "shield" (see shield) + truma "troop,"

trauma or tribe too tribe, two tribe

radial literal

cool cool coil

turban, ebullience

trouble in mind I'm you

the last blue irony

not a swastika

not a wrist watch-

watch, the world flutter

fuck itself up, and higher

narcotic word

hot sweaty sweet afterward

you made you feel prettier than the cymbals barely pressed together in a funeral band

under the grubby February sky

some of our fathers die

set aside consensus/

no concepts/

toward the good changes--

and some born

Monday, February 14, 2011

My Funny Valentine (Help me mend the web of time)

Help me mend the web of time
where it has been broken

Saturday, February 12, 2011

We try the fresh fortune--

What could be more obvious than that man transposes his propositional way of understanding motion into the structure of the motion itself--

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

In fiction we trust

Capital 7

A sensitive (you(th) person
Trenchtown/Trenchtown--What is opposition
Angry letter to a brink
Stop producing commodities, I mean really stop, please,
I mean really stop trying to please me, it isn't working
Either-- But if human labour is the sole source of value, and machinery adds nothing but the labour equivalent of its cost of production and maintenance (yields no 'surplus'), why does the capitalist invest in labour-saving machinery?

Opposition is when it gets better to get worse
The machine details each work in her human heart as beating/beating/starting over

I could have freed more if I could have just convinced them they were slaves

Harriet told me, with a rifle, to my nexus of agony and growth. Speechless letter to her thinking. My mood makes brand new confidential dots, in mechanical ink, for solo dancer

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Dwell like a Ghost, Black Angel, Dwell like a Ghost

Cleopatra wishes she was Cleopatra
Newscaster wishes she was Cleopatra (peace talks/ toss-up)
Cleopatra wishes she wasn't on these news
like that heist in the revolution (blues gunned out of call and response, just call, and call again, and call a gun, and call again)
Or that her patron wasn't
Coping mechanism/cloaks him in ashen cross window-- To enlighten, you must start with that which is itself lucid (natural black inventions)

The noose of two integers working toward a third Cleopatra/Cleopatra/Elizabeth Taylor/Pam Grier
who were never strangers, who had 'ever heard footsteps crossing a redundant bridge and felt it as a welcomed trespass or like being pacified by company or wondering 'why wasn't I myself earlier?' or discovered for
The sultriness before a thunder/rain of where I've been kept, calling/ or new humans come from the precipice and take to the center for salt/I mean for traction/ice age comes/salt gives you traction, nigga

one man said to the other lovingly, and black/ blood rubbed in salt is how they say we crossed these waters with our tantrums on their knack for sounding happy,

into the safety of plantation candy cotton, the fabric of our (slogan) lives, is how they say we crossed Cleopatra with an actress as if any classified diva could give us a divine sense of the street we might street walk in calling the immortal terms of our need to forget this arrivance-- which salt we tasted, which granulated wish-fulfillment tested its villain on denial, which section in the Freud, Oedipal complex or childlike I thought I was a maiden, cosmic rage or cosmic celebration, say something about how the I is more relaxed when hunted:

I've been calling it sound grammar

The way a singer has to sing without using words

to get some other languages together

and when you catch her crying

and when you catch her believing her tribe is scattered across the looping echoes of a soft machine

Monday, February 7, 2011

Chances you are my Chances

The snow sits stoically archiving our dreams or so it means to oppose their dissolving
Meet me in the wrong hotel.. and so slowly

we learn to be the time between right and wrong diminishing their hold on joy and

he says come with me, and I will bring you back less suffering

I know something about being convinced

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Our word is our weapon

Even as it Swings; Is being Hardened into a Media Thing; or

"My adventures as a social Poet" 

Somebody tells the police/wrists held steep behind the back

Dedicated magic

of memory not prophecy

like Antigone not like antagonizing or automatic rejection of everything 


My model for this convergence is my favorite/friend    (        ) 

Improvising with himself 

but when shame produces silence and silence keeps everything the same 

this is not a crisis 

still writing about race 

and the tyrants of the world


from country to country, aroused by an evil I don't believe in good and evil 

and we are not afraid 

since from their very gig 

Marilyn's seraphic giggle 

My happiness builds its fortress 

and will never be traced to hilltops 

But it has not been no where/where some acts of forgetting are acts of love 

but the fingertips can't complete them, acts 

so I imagine the father as a boy 

house fixed on fields as oaths--

eat your oaths, swallows, sallow rowboat-- sailing germ I mean

dream/dreaming/I mean to be during--

Precisely what the body resists is what the body is 

and we could find incidents of this as well as other nations 

collapsing, standing back up and giving the galactic fat lip a chance off screen 

Even as you swing, being slackened into a media thing 

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Lament for the Brilliance of Wolves

Like the quick has an angry separation
The well has almost, a kind of, resigned separation
it's not really part of the phase

Well, maybe next...


something patient like a vault, sinking and dissolved in code or loose with guesses and limitless

Is my (waiting) fault, ( I feel no guilt, but relief, no completion but



as a singer, the point when you have to overcome that

or develop for it a location in the voice and travel their words

the main threat to wolf populations is loss of habitat

There comes a time to wake up to what's happening
There comes a time to get out of what's happening

I love you more than what's happening

lament for the killing of wolves
for the shooting of wolves
for the surveillance of wolves by helicopter
for their rebellion
for the young rebel cubic packs gentrified by lament
for the song they stack into psalm
salty in the honest air

I love you more than what's happening

Je Suis Noire, And These are my Hours

At first I felt the name like a wound
une blessure
a blessing
and then I couldn't hear you
(anymore) calling
And I didn't care by what
something unearned in both senses
in all quad senses
came to mean my being and time
Head nigga in charge
and in price
and free

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