Thursday, November 6, 2014

On the closing off of history / The Black Entertainer's Still Singing Blues

Every christening was a little bit of a dirge          and the whistleblower's nightmare  was  his over-achievement      that people   may listen   and change  later     blame him  for the useless exchange of base desires   for noble  ones           let's face it      embrace   the   denatured  root of redemption    once   you understand more than  one language   and sainthood  is as  blank   hood rich  al sharpton    wailing about the closing off of history      

In a total black theater        I was just thinking out loud   

I'm a singer   
and I   sing a song         

and that  song    hungry  for it's  own collapse  into choruses      will claim   anything    

sabotage anything 

shame anything  

for a chance    at repeating   

the transformation from  thing  to person and back and forth      that occurs on the closing off of history   

and life   emerges,   one of those   ancient     tongueless limitless   in all languages      revival   meetings  to be alive       where all the eyes   of former lovers      careen   into   one     witness      and the soul is not forlorn    and the   irritable   mystic is irritable   no longer       and    memory    is not the only  prize   for trying 

I'm a  singer    

and I   sing  a  song  and celebrating   the accidental appropriation   of all those   moods      as a gift    for    recklessness      as   a  chore       as      pious   as   denial    as   a strip  club  addict  stripping      cars    for the sound   of triggers      as    church   goer   stripping    god   for the   sound    of   the fearless    as what unites   them  ripping   meaning    from  the haven of brass   senselessness      calling    everyone a basic  bitch   and then  taking it back  on Sunday        we only     pray   for moods      and the right to be amplified      usually         so  much     of your  silence   belongs   to me