NYU Black Renaissance Noire NYU Black Renaissance Noire Vol 17.2: Fall 2017 - Page 78

Third Soliloquy: Mythic Time First Coda: Bells Cool sugar beet crushed against mortar by cruel pestle Is the prime metaphor I’d use to illuminate the platform Of my love; I need to squeeze and ring my own body until It is thin as a wet rag drying in the sweat lodge Of plains summer Heart drummer; solar cape; I Link enemy family lover; Extend equanimity; A long day of honest echoes tastes Of bright first light a sound page Coiled by quiet; Its Sunday In the old country music bends sashays The engineer makes everything a first take Bare feet slide across a dirt floor Bring a blue guitar back to Gary Indiana of my youth; a thin man Removes the nails and rude whip from the back of my blood A turtle strides into the camp ground Time is hammered sideways and begins to walk like a duck I see two men take down a third; lay him gently on the Ground and deduct the rope from his neck; as one man Soothes the burned throat the other reaches inside the Dead man’s chest and pulls out his heart; The art of healing is never lost In your night of wax lament You continually release the record of my soul Now sage and elfin limb are infant glee and become me; To you I am vinyl poster and papier mache; here I am solid inside; sedate; that’s me banking and rolling? Second Coda: Hush Assemble the sun ship multiple axes of movement The hardest part is finding the way Standing in a prolonged quiver a gentleman Shaman twelve feet tall present tone raw Sky’s crying one primitive teardrop a multitude Is not necessary in order to overwhelm A platitude turning left to go right Is not a mistake; just a pause This is the up button screen? In the face of the panel of the ride there are lines that Explain the price of a stumble or a missed step I want to go to the 9th floor but the door opens at # 13 What does this mean? Gristle and cartilage and black bone poke through skin This is after the end of the world His story and my story crisscross several times before a new Stage begins; every 50,000 years Shiva rises in the west To test the mettle of my dna I aim to move my persona from horizon to vertex I need an endurance that will outlast time Health illness rank grammar logic truth Vision and being Beyond even inner seeing There is no more human interest I climb into Andean sky and find an old stone city settled By Royal Incan shrine keepers who bequeathed their Bicycles during the last stage of the Tour de France we are not tragic men!