NYU Black Renaissance Noire Winter 2014 - Page 62

By YUSEF KOMUNYAKAA Bling To find shades & colors among the tuned chaos, to know moments of midnight silence, as horse-hair whines & gallops strings to drag up stars from the fourth dimension to find love in war, life taking two steps into darkness, three steps into the tropic light of men who know too much about blood on the heroic whispering grass, & to know exactly when the hunter’s bow & arrow become an instrument caught in the conjurer’s little earthly song for a bad-ass violin. 60 Words for Billy Bang Snow flares the gray morning at the bus stop. It’s damn cold, but the man’s gold teeth flash at the young woman who stares down the boulevard, plugged into metallic-blue earphones, her painful hooped earrings stealing her glow. A plated image from the “3rd hour” dangles from a chain around his neck, & the gilded weather in Tut’s tomb opens behind my eyelids. A stone removed. A door ajar. A room light wounds. The boy emperor & his treasures undisturbed. The gold coffin inside a wooden coffin. Dismantled chariots await charioteers, & history reverses. “Where’s our ride, bitch?” Is he talking to me, the woman, or himself? The cold works on him, icy knives whittling down the man his mama wanted, & sadness boards the bus as smoke curls up from the black tailpipe.