we’re losing in
droves—souls headed to the Promised Beauty.
tears dripping
into caskets, reflexive/reflection, streaming faraway actions.
many are too young
to die, too strong to give way, too talented to leave so soon. under
footlights, faced by overheads, giving belief, excellence, true concern. more
is what most crave, it’s never enough, how to ask for more?
I have no stories—of
times on ships—of snippets of wisdom given.
we will excuse our
thoughts, wrangle our suspicions, ignore many auras.
a quilt, hot milk,
many wishes.
many are coming,
to join our zeitgeist, to stitch into the seams of a stronger nation.
most wrestle what
we see—the interior phantasm—the heart-ghosts. many are not looking, for it
never mattered, with anguish mounting inside.
if majority
understood affliction, screaming, No! partaking, feeling miserable.
silent wailing.
silent Africa. silent sexuality.
losing, winning,
good times, bad days, suffocation, celebration. our winds at play, our strings
at opera, many pairs of glasses—for many sets of faces.
the same nose,
lips, structural features; distant, made aloof, taught to discredit each other.
witness as we
live, witness as houses are cleaned out, witness how we rise.
they gave
landmarks on cultures in souls upon legacies. they held politics, danced
blackness, entered America’s spirit. we cheer for the joy brought through pain—the
understanding brought by perseverance, the courage to assert blackness.
