Suppression through death, as monumental hells—this one
thought a monster; our voiceless ancestors, afoul in spirit, clashing as they
climbed to freedom; this vague allusion, indebted to masters, for the mere use
of tools; a legacy as crying, while doting over riches, as shredded through
darkened skin; this vehicle by which suppression becomes the favored praxis;
this want for liquor, where dancing was seen as joy, as too, a sense of
validation. Years enslaved women, this boding drug, this furious land, this
valley too difficult to tread. [We mustn’t perish, as coming through hell, a
soul destined for ghettoes: this stolid attitude, this impassive love, this
passing to progeny, hell…as infused
by demons, such as thoughts, embedded in sable eyes…as broken debris, to botch
parenthood, where a child becomes a skeleton]. It’s now moonshine, for placated
riches—this temperament hard to assuage: such alleys of trauma, as trenchant
anger—this astral yearning; to avoid therapy, for hands are white—this
defeatist position; to cry this ending, our happiest pains—our daughters the
skins of struggle. I speak to heart, a monsoon mirror, a calming disposition;
to argue this life, our stolen hopes, pondering this deep reverence,—for
something pure, as for something bold, this village saturated in Spirit; our
faceless angst, this inner mammon, suppression upon unpaved streets; to witness
mother, inflamed with drugs, ashamed of this image; to imagine father, this
contrasted soul—an album skipping through motion. We pierced a vision, to
picklock this fate, this inward combination; to uproot hell, as is Father’s
creation, this frantic as capricious nightmare; falling where love stood, to
have but one nanny, a woman wrapped in malaise…screaming through passion, as
searching for mystics…singing at a nocturne sky; this fervid feeling, fleeing
through fury, but ever known as, Other;
this violent course, a pack of souls with fangs, peering at eternity.
