Tuesday, May 31, 2016

He watches himself as if he were an enemy lying in ambush

You and 12,000 others like this photo of Billie / Holiday   sporting her cheerleader's uniform and head tilted west. Her hair is tied into a ponytail, slicked back with the good gel, and her lips are bright red, parted slightly, spread as cargo and low ladders. First let me thank the divine creator, the neter, the god, is really beautiful      and all of the delirious souls who worship instead of embody      are so remote and so. Her crown chakra is amber violet. Her violence isn't shy but hidden. We violate her crown by it. Invisible clown bias. Hands clasped low behind her back, a bow with its captive satellites alighting the heart. We are our own hypocrites. There's a man behind her, out of focus, with a whistle between his lips and a djembe in his hands. Black. Very beautiful. Look over your shoulder before he disappears, Lady, but if hollers  let him in through the front door with his hands stuffed in his pockets and rescue the laugh track vault. That's vengence and not apalling. He was the snitch hired by the FBI to rat out her habit. Fell in love with her but he still did it. Her hands are hidden. An eight ball and a tiny gun in them. Toy money for black entertainment always in circulation as adornment. A little numb and floral resentment flickering in both their eyes. Every spectator is a coward, a liability