NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2013 - Page 33

The Violet Dark Blue Sexual Magic of Which I Speak Is Rage I favor phrases that hurt but make Sense; here’s one; an idiot witness can Only recall God; here’s another; a prayer For the spun wheel whore house along The wharf is better than a picture To the carver of lime and stone Who will never pass this way again “I climbed the pyramid of fame and Voiced a pompous clarion of the war To spread freedom like a virus, then Became a double wide king sized nigger Named Bigger Thomas shaking the world and Talking shit until they dipped me near Paris in vats of brine and acid” Along this track symbols resist the right To choose and beg to be in Direct contact with the Guru of order; Here’s Richard Wright! He’s come to declare Heaven is a prime number; he’s not Jesus, but a sun burnt Saint Paul Pulling the immense wings off of history The sheep and cows are cross cut; They fall down; we gather Albert King Under the canopy of leaves where trees Scream at the durable hissing of an Axe and its howl and tumble of Transit strokes; the violet dark blue sexual Magick of which I speak is rage “This is the way it must be; The face has to be hard core Like a diamond hatchet; the chest should Echo like an anvil gong; the loins Should stand out from an amber piece Of cod and be gris gris filled In front and molten bronze from behind” To a Sufi every thing is a Phat joke; there are no wrong notes In ‘Body and Soul’; every hot lick Bares the tongue against the metal, lets The breath counsel virgin vibrato and weld Fate in grand commune to all exits The Whale’s beauty breaks wrought iron bars 31 BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE “I cry for the spikes driven through The center of both my hands; I Come from a tribe of almond colored Banjo pickers who were born in Mississippi And migrated to Chicago to join the Book of the Month Club; without asking I began to unlock all man holes” BRN-FALL-2013.indb 31 9/13/13 12:47 AM