I play Marvin as
soul tickles I keep thinking of blackness: our cool hats our noisy poolhalls or
blues blazing from a Fleetwood. our sons and daughters their eagerness as
chasing my past—to have excitement to steal a kiss to jib and jive hoping upon
physical jazz. sore at this war or raving over possibility while most blacks
are overexposed. needing anointing speeding through currents as afraid we
missed our own handiworks. seesawing along skies so torn on product—too sad to
go deeper. our women so turquoise our eyes so glossy at Express stores buying
denims. a need to feel brand new, like rushing away from mud, while we can’t scrub
enough. our bible verses our cleansings our ritualized existence. as beautiful
lawyers or psychologists, I think another is in the White House. as communicators
racing phantoms so much genetic frequency.
we just dance like
that we get funky like that our grandparents play gin like that.
I feel sad, gazing
into a short period, while ecstatic the dynasty is soaring. early morning water
at noon boiled eggs while dinner is composed of fountain memories.
if Angelica an art
or ferrets are witnesses by so great the craving.
most can’t defend
on that level. many are unsuited inside. it becomes taxing to strengthen
resistance. our color schemes as internal the way we disagree with pride. so
much our walks our strutting our pants. years at it like genetic allegators it
has become evolution. if but to see – most sad souls with such happiness in a
given moment.
I say sorrow in us
where I must say joy in us, while pushing for happiness and sound in us.
