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