In a panicked enjoyment of picnics I found guilt behaving like agreement : yes because I love what damages us yes because I love embroidered fable dresses made in Vietnam sweatshops made in American dreams , what damages us? Yes because I love men even as we lose our mothers to aunt Hester's scream, yes because I love Frederick Douglass yes because teach me how to Dougie bitch / yaaaaaasss qween because slang is obscene and beautiful cleanliness/ yes because I wore the fable dress to the club so dutifully my silhouette amazes you , yes? New to youth :
At the point of the bayonet and under the cannon fire Don't sing in tune to me sing the pieces west is like listening to fertile crescent wheat mongering and going deaf to your momma, west is like domesticity turned glamorous by mistake you're getting on my nerves making all these terrible mistakes count to eight in your native language gather eight racks of blue find me eight examples of the centrality of violence in the making of the slave and reenact them backwards and you're so lazy you obey
call that living
