For Maafa for whom grieving isn’t a fantasy everything is

Where e is  called   the spherical   excess a    pall of media is     always not even enough    to say something justice  like    they  love pickled   cabbage on a bagel  or     something    taller THEY  LOVE THAT GOD IS BLACK              we love playing west coast shit   in the backs of school buses on the way to Magic Mountain   one white kid named Jared is with it too one laughter    is too many chickens in Dave’s last day on set too many       dead birds on set too many onslaughts of secular mercy too many Marcy Projects    reciting but not Jay Z types I’ll fight a clone but then what? There’s genetics   in every tension a fantasy in every release revenge is just panic panic just     that this isn’t mount Fuji yet
make the next mountain a sinner with no rails  

I   suspect  we’re being     quarantined and    beamed up on double   crosses I suspect we  love Jesus and don’t    even claim him or have the   sense to clone him suspicion   makes me laugh and dip the   thigh in batter

Where the growl  of oil in mouths    captivates empowers

the earth  spills    some more  into a quarry   

Quarantine     Josephine     Persephone whatever the mania of clarity can occupy without killing

Seven Figures

A haggle  of camels     and no red  lake no 1 to clean   the undulations or braid the still  water in their freight of skulls       

This Reddit forum on  vivid dreams is turning into blackness lessons   live coaching  bitch that’s what money do   

Thought the drone was a hawk   again now we’re talking about   clones and fancy lemons a sophisticated  brand of stretch pants saved my life     Night and Day weaponized the sun

Ficus       Ficus Ficus  Ficus if it  itches if it fights       if it eats at Sizzler Happily   ever?

Hard candy   in a bush like   a poisonous mushroom   or permission to run   but she sits still in silhouette  and smiles and the children inherit    the bomb shelter the butterscotch Bell Hook’s  car collection there’s a lot of them

                      See an ancient baby bird beautifully encased  in Amber I don’t see her I see   a man’s inertia

Nature is anti-capitalist  propaganda a burden  of knowledge actually     jade tree jade tree ace of spades     in a jungle of loosies and you  berrating a dome of lungs in these longest   broken tongues

Maafa’s Industrial Attraction

Hawks  on trucks  on crop on   klux he left the x out he wanted it   luck      the   uncultivated  land gives  me a rush    of communion            and freedom is for the   wild ones who can still    see a hanged man in every    fancy silk tie and adobe pile         The scavengers in there groping their own necks    to brace the rash of assimilation checking for  chains and magenta teeth I want to say here nothing    other than they are very corny and the bird dung   on their windows called eyes came to clean in swarms  torment them with a ritual joke when they wanted luxury socialism and then    there are no  more naked men    in the boat Dada       there are no more men in boats          there are no sun bottles filled with ice    and cod what is desire after luxury will he   get hungry will she feed him the tufts of milk    he remembers like bites and loaves nobody knows nobody   knows

What picturesque fugitives

Sometimes drummers   are taxi drivers   hunched clean in the banana   yellow ones the unanimous ones     

Don’t lie to me.

Sometimes I wanna ride in his taxi  and talk about the meat-packing factory his parents own in San Juan,  how it flooded of Maria how it gets to Camelot or Washington  Heights where the family owns a grocery store, haven for the locals.

Let’s go crazy.

The rotten meat can be salvaged   with the vials of soft blood and dye   in the backroom freezer. Just inject it like a sleeve of vaccines        look away play something drastic sell it downtown    we’re headed to Wall Street with the reddest lamb these executives  have ever seen.

Don’t  try me.  

Sometimes  I’m the one    on the tambors  beating them like   I’d whack a slaver   with my naked hands until  they bleed and I bleed   making the dandies hungry for   something lethal

On either side of the emancipatory project