There is no caution in god's mind

Father, Father,

I said there is no caution, in god's mind. The fossils of a deep parody are caught in the reel. The air smells like licorice and mould, like Macbeth and Lady Macbeth and hubris and the dead minerals resurrected by our desperation to be literal again and then reject again whatever we discover in that dull field of trembling cedars they keep asking you to ax like a fad or black angel. Do you still blame black angels? Their pathological confessions and broken tambourine candle sinking in the glass. Black english, I love you. Black man, I love you. Black youth, I take you to my forever milk and break you into mistakes (it's a trap) so you stay with me willful and blameless and not afraid of your own impatient heart bent over the cedar about to cut in and loose a hunger so wild it will never know how to announce itself besides departure and music. If I pick up a spirit and knock it back now— next thing I knew I'm in bed with that moaning blues and every black idea I ever loved flashes through to a dutiful yellow in a crown of stupid melodies about who else we lean on when god is acting crazy and we are god —   Is it hip of me to crave that evil until it rolls over and disappears into value     is it true of me,      trembling in the morning  on the  tensing dime of autumn     looking for anyone who resembles   you  to help me practice my scenes.   The monologs mostly     mostly I just want you to be here    tonight.

Niggas in disguises

We feel unqualified for our roles as symbols

We feel overqualified for our roles as symbols

The thing that always aroused anger before, this time inspired a raging tenderness

And I forgot what he had said about having never heard of a crime he couldn't imagine committing himself  /    and    finally       we   were well on    our way   to understanding    one another's    dainty /  sublime   / blame  ed for     prayers about       what ecstasy   our daddies   died   to    and   in          the fits   of  demented  sugar rubbing hoods   of their wooden blood   like private  leaders of the occult order we shrug  off as    pop  or   patent leather leotards   that zip v's  in the  front   of weeping   grinning  idols  or  subtle  abuses   of power that add up to     numb          I had   some   to say  /  some - thing,  I  mean  or  (thingness of the thing )  I had that and was about to bring it on stage   in   blind  pink    apertures      I  was  drunk   in a way where you do the Cabbage Patch   on the dance floor in public    and   genuflect    to invisible ghost  soldiers   as late   as the door shuts   behind you at sunup,   at fast   justice /   faster       cuddle with the newspaper  until it   makes   musty  tattoos   on your radiance  or don't  be           Puttering around in the proof of our oneness ,  all these new attitudes   toward    your very own     and  so coveted  / dissatisfaction    /    have  become the optimistic masks        that  keep us elaborate     clowns   in the cattle     feeling   guilty     for   joy    for sorrow     for the grotesque irony   of nearness these days  when      nothing will ever end     again  

He felt his heart stopping (and these people knew things)