To be yellow born into a household where the black man rules with his fists and the white wife body livid with a devotion hip enough to confuse trouble with love or whatever it was, such the lucky one to come up so unamerican , thankful one in whose imagination the country danger is so ambient and precise of source it vanishes and with each departure more affectionate machines pant to run the dream between hope and habit
I wanted to say this more clearly In what ways did watching your black father beat your white mother empower you as a brown baby ? in a blue way is there anything so cruel so crude as to say you felt each of your hands in their puppet throats as they screamed for help in unison but only one was hunted for room within the invisible listener
I wanted to say this more clearly trustless of a soul that hadn't suffered he tore hers toward him
And I arrived as a kind of vengeance, the many versions of war worn raw by their sex, come to be as the treacherous peace of empty pacts and broken chessmen were scattered all over the room
It's like being that last person alive
