Thursday, September 6, 2018

For Maafa for whom grieving isn’t a fantasy everything is

Where e is  called   the spherical   excess a    pall of media is     always not even enough    to say something justice  like    they  love pickled   cabbage on a bagel  or     something    taller THEY  LOVE THAT GOD IS BLACK              we love playing west coast shit   in the backs of school buses on the way to Magic Mountain   one white kid named Jared is with it too one laughter    is too many chickens in Dave’s last day on set too many       dead birds on set too many onslaughts of secular mercy too many Marcy Projects    reciting but not Jay Z types I’ll fight a clone but then what? There’s genetics   in every tension a fantasy in every release revenge is just panic panic just     that this isn’t mount Fuji yet
make the next mountain a sinner with no rails  


I   suspect  we’re being     quarantined and    beamed up on double   crosses I suspect we  love Jesus and don’t    even claim him or have the   sense to clone him suspicion   makes me laugh and dip the   thigh in batter


Where the growl  of oil in mouths    captivates empowers
the earth  spills    some more  into a quarry   

Quarantine     Josephine     Persephone whatever the mania of clarity can occupy without killing