Maafa's Good Diction

I could be that  believable gypsy   in a ski mask     they call me a       secret so I sing in the   cut   

        The  rubber   gesture   guts guesses     at what it is   coming through the   sound      

                                                                                                                                                                I'M SCREAMING        

 a confession     of laughter through    suffering an African proverb   thing I mean turning intensity  against itself as a mode of   assimilation has its own language   good   diction     I’ll  always  miss Malcolm    stay on topic     we were talking about   Black hypocrites invisible  hypocrisy like Blackness like   that small plaintiff nudge like   backstage ugly neon gutter rider     sweat hugging the blue lit rafters and    you laughed to keep from screaming skimmed    the air for amphetamines it’s crazy to know how   to say anything to make anything meaningful/sinful  soulful kinfolk as it is this tenderness in    me is razor scores carved into the concrete tunnel    between Angela and Fred Hampton The interviewer asks are   you in love   with him      and    she cannot    even be bashful     anymore or caveat   to revolution his     corpse at the window     dancing peeping clinging     clamouring her screams the supple   smell of before rain is dwelling     on the Black song asking it back to      itself she just sat there in the dark room   under the grey mushrooming spotlight and giggled in   that direct shrill pitch she could never disguise not    beneath afros not beneath straight perms or braids or   rage or dread or origin fading into war grin I'M  SCREAMING    she    answered                    and       they enter     that silence       together