Vigil :

Catapult








                                                                                            Overlooking the living chickens
                                                                      Some  are meant to  be heroic   and let you   watch  through light that is also soap  that is also   pulses    crisp  token   halting beyond the frontier of revolt

                  Dakar
LaCienega    near  Pico       or    in   the  chartered margins  where we come to play at dreaming™

Another radiant

Uneventful    fallow    body  so   many     dopamine      allegories      cobalamin , by no means  a dove


If speaking in code grows boring      so does Andy Warhol     but Miles can beat me always and I'll still tune my spade to him  and cry innocence   and no I won't reserve my abstractions for daily  --  when they   pant  like     lush life   into   isolation  ,    such slaves    at first  glance   such  anarchists   when   I look up   again  

                                                                   adversarial    pretense
                  my forces
for  what forces?



and thenagain    the unthinkable is a tone    from    us n'them    who stretch repeat so thin it fades  to various       those                                                                                                                                                           forces    
                                         these   spades          our   story       radiating from lakeside  stereo  as   indifferent  daggers in pose and repose        as      it-girl   nodding   off   into   her   own reflection where    

all that silence   inflects  

 our dread   of a   revelation          

and  all that    noise    does     too        mean    an unusually  lawless  beauty   captured  between dawns     against    beatitude     against     what   saints      we   pressed   our     true   saints     singing one    name   and claiming     another              til    what became   of the distance   between   birmingham      and      los  angeles      ?

I go to claim what's rightfully mine, in time

The black entertainer's love called blues

Settlers wanted to disappear        become tribesmen        Niggas  wanted to reappear  and settle again

land was never meant to be owned or handled  like     currency        moan  with me    /  hush

the clean surge of opposition   was too pleasurable  but   to be  called  the seven  names

always
always
always
always
stay with me always
always
stay


spake the play-warring factions : lovers ashamed to claim one another     except   in  a   mercy  of  mutual  sabotage  


                   nothing in hollywood   is   tragic

                                 or romantic    as our bloody black hero    approving of his solitude  traps  himself    in dem  attention,  

                                    as  savior    and    villain       go  same    on celluloid      so  black pain   is    like


everywhere     ,        trending      ,   and going platinum    /    hush    now    ,   don't explain



transformation          as some annex   of    morality      when    you just want  to   look     free       too


                                                                         

Now and Then

http://afrosonics.tumblr.com/post/129343308284/my-country-tis-of-thee-sweet-land-of