Leaving the cotton pastures for the sassafras and moonshine Laura Nyro was cackling to bind the limbs of me and my cousins it isn’t subtle to be free its stench of hops and poplar pennies in the dirt copper when it sweats not only greens but bleeds turns the bloodless colors toward the red cloth of could be darkness velvet darkness there are no police in the eastern dark in my dream the weapons fall off the map near Morocco with saddles vultures dropping out of thick clouds and the most dangerous opposition is laughter where her music of picnics and stones mocks the dark it roams the countrysides entrusted with shadow it’s roman of me to listen looking for that lighthearted torment looking at the wires and wire boxes coming out of trees and seeing bodies looking at photos of antelope and spotting Penelope no melanin needs song more than the kind seduced by moonshine hallucinating his own lynching maybe we are rethinking tragedy together maybe we gave these niggas too much time in the stars maybe we miss the beatings when they turn invisible and he tried to turn his soul inside out and make a movie of the black maybe
