Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Maafa’s Equipment

What  is the  black body   when setting  up floating fences      when I moved and noticed    the dead lemons pentagrams   for love rotten     rubber yellow like a low rain and   it glows as the ghost of a dead   sun it’s roads unzipped to show devils     we love forever honeycomb low veil will you   come home and wave slowly Will you roam   to me with wax and memes clean my delirium and   I get hungry punch the dirt like hunting and swallow   something country bounty slips down me like leaky snow holds  in me a calm knowing when the land will change hands     it will already be a ruins I rinse my mouth in blood     I love the bite marks of tractors on earth but I wouldn’t wanna    be her        

Sunday, July 28, 2019

Wednesday, July 10, 2019

Infant Energy/ Infinity

This time traveling beyond language was a survival   vigil hold mechanism  at   bay but     also the chance  in it the chant  me(chan) summon this   time all of your agency     at infancy you fancy this  time almonds and the crease in the   air on the altar cowards whispering   their prayers at babies we say resurrection  this way and some are shamed into surrender   and some coerced and some just don’t remember the song    of themselves come back to learn it over anterior return   retinue it burns in the new bodies of stars of cannibal  roses     

And   the the titled  heave of any    ultrasound meme       is getting around like     a rumor and rummaging through the   sun’s belongings I don’t   see so much of a difference   between ownership and hysteria     I don’t see these things as different   things and my sense of pleasure is in cherishing     the perverse unity of speechlessness and forever this   way the way the womb does hug its phantoms     in tom toms and Rosecrans / normandie not the one    in France not to outlaw digression but to long for the line of     sight from purchase to loss of will and let it recoil: a healing     

Thursday, July 4, 2019


There can be tenderness        in the cedar wrapped satin    instrument of torture I beat with   a hammer until it believes it is really     a foot & my bloody feet look good in   the field like how they would appear in      leaving the slender green gashes make an alphabet      of  that    way  over there!    scatological   departure with         an objective so clear     and coiled its    
modesty     will make you   weep      

The modesty   of a Black  pianist because   it is not sublimated     rage makes me     weep     

that    pathological       tenderness of     this and this   and this black body        bleeding nods and curses       seeps into the dirt as render then     whatever murder silence is       

His           immersive sincerity         his endless childhood         a rubric for the silly hope     we all keep in our skin       like buckets of candy and the    sugar never expires but its sweet fades       to the faint funk of daylight in a movie            

         What a  terrible    way to keep     a record

Wednesday, July 3, 2019