NYU Black Renaissance Noire NYU Black Renaissance Noire Vol 17.2: Fall 2017 - Page 76

poetry Read me as plunder In the root culture war Break my body whole And push it to the top of the pop charts I win a Grammy for ‘Best Banana Split Side Saddle in a Cup of Apple Sauce’ A thing of beauty; I can’t get my name right Riding around on a wild horse I get my nerve to stop and haunt houses Then search the feces for cosigns That jump-starts a god-joke Take mean Out to lunch Leave hate on the highway To wade through traffic How does my nut-brown body become antique lavender? No number I dial is busy! No seat I see is taken! No box I choose is checked! Butane feet Striking through whiskey shoes Feel that old and that young; Please rip out my tongue! Feather down knee pads detained Along with the one jewel fitted glove Hair on fire during the filming Of the Pepsi flimflam Magic screams of babies Opening the sequence of respect for The best mother fucking video ever made I’m wearing black shoes with snow white socks; so what! Scarecrow jumps off the wall And buys up the Beatles’ digital memory Like it’s the odd bottle of cheap British Schnapps; Totally pissing white folks off; so what! I fuck Elvis’ baby girl; true ‘dat’; Elvis fucks everybody’s baby girl boy Mama daddy grandpa granny; There is no such thing as fair trade Where kidnapping is the only good news; so what! Second Soliloquy: The Coming of Man I cross myself in debt with symbols of the Coming of man Heated right hand on crotch left waving to my baby maybe She’s in the next room; left knee and ankle hambone crazed Raised in eternal dispute with graveyards Hamstring singing loose below the right thigh Who will offer me unbroken circle leave then grace me with Station and fixed chords; care taker of earth air metal wood Water and fire I desire two things; a place to be The name of the drunken freedom marcher who walked me From the Crown of the Bear to the outskirts of town To Moonwalk around Notre Dame calling out to Our Lady In ways that defy speech The breach in the classic world I create can never be closed From the mad Ghetto Boys of South Houston to the Sperm soaked streets of Lagos ruled by Fela Anikulapo Kuti Being buried offends me; big hole fronted by a Marble stump; expect me to just jump in and let Kin pile on until I rot and become an afterthought Some ritual residue rehash urn I didn’t come from dust so why should I return? This Walk is the walk of a killer Slow to deliver a motive but so brazen that the smell of herb The shift of wind the drift of sky Has no choice but to choose me over the victim It’s not about victory or defeat; it’s the walk! I come back as a jaguar; throats are torn out Knee caps crack; shins and calves shred like Wheat under the battle plan of a John Deere tractor Take your money and buy this ticket ‘Cuz you know I’m loaded unlocked and I am bad’ The beauty of causes and games is set in the same basket As assault with intent to commit mayhem I adore Richard Pryor because he figures out how To make the naïveté of Leon Spinks the power of Coltrane And the primal daring of Tupac into an elegant hustle Great White sharks lay carbon muzzles on the word baked Coal can eЁٔݡЁɅ䁍ɐ͕չ)!ݭ́)́ ɽݸMѕ٥]ȁI ɱ́5٥)唁)!ɥ݅$ٔѡɅ͔)Q́ȁ͡ݥ܁Ѽɽ́ݥѠͥ) ݥ܁͕́5ͽѽ$)%ѡЁ͕ѡЁeЁѽ͍́)ɽѡ͠ݸɽɽչ䁅͡)$݅́ɍ䁱)5ͭձɅѡє)Q́́Ёɕմ׊eɔ٥ЁՅɔ)]Ѡͽ鄁$ͬȁɝѽ)Ʌ́ ɽ͡ԁո)Q͡Ё͕ѡɽ՝ѡȁєѡ)'eͅ$Ёѡ)ȁٕɥݥ́ɸѡɽ՝䁵Ѡ)ե͕չɅ͕݉́ɔѼՍ)!ݽ ِ쁍ɅͱՍͱɕɽ)]́ݡݡݡɔɅ́ɹ݅䁙ɽѡ)QݕȁѼɕٕѡɥͥոѼեѵɕ)5% !0) -M=8)Q!IM=1%1=EU%LQ]< =L)ЁMٕ) ), ѥ́1屔