I lay
lower I hide hills such heaven for a ballet woman. such black skin such
ruthless ruth such raw reception. so cursed by beauty its flame furious its
frankness abusive. by racial institution by wrangling heart so pulled into
hating. such love for decorum such demure as days come closing by brimstone.
the passion of art or tears dripping into mother so much a soul fleeing her
origin—as tugged by origin, to arrive at origin—in a system never omitting origin.
sheer attraction by mere photo while
age is catching its gnats. delirious refusal by arc of color where nothing ever
suggests those powers are remorseful. a story in its tabloid, such a move
demanding attention, while it may be a detriment; but silence is vicious or
heinous while most are looking for carte blanche. such by ethos, to
have lived by rules, so undercut where souls have motives. to use a person to
tamper with self-portrait as monsters threaded by insanity.
by sinkhole by old baggage where one
seemed to escape—those sulfuric thunder storms those trees so close it aches
while searching out negotiation. to have lived some circle to have become
contended, where understanding merely says, “Kiss our Buttocks”; if so to
exist, in this impatient world, while most are disgusted by diversity.
the walls are flaming those bricks
are withstanding while it hasn’t gone to rest; such wrestling those wrested
wrists where wealth has become dishonored. but fuss of fusions if body was
given—it never meant acceptance!
