st. louis/ such a colored town/ a whiskey
black space of history & neighborhood/ forever ours/
to lawrenceville/ where the only road open
to me/ waz cleared by colonial slaves/ whose children never
moved/ never seems like/ mended the torments of the Depression
the stains of demented spittle/ dropped from lips of crystal women/
still makin independence flags/
from st. louis/ on a halloween’s eve to the veiled prophet/
usurpin the mystery of mardi gras/ made it mine tho the queen
waz always fair/ that parade/ of pagan floats & tambourines/
commemoratin me/ unlike the lonely walks wit liberal trick or
treaters/ back to my front door/ bag half empty/
my face enuf to scare anyone i passed/ a colored kid/
whatta gas
1) here
a tree
wonderin the horizon
dipped in blues &
untended bones
usedta hugs drawls
rhythm & decency
here a tree
waitin to be hanged
sumner high school/ squat & pale on the corner/ like
our vision/ waz to be vague/ our memory
of the war/ that made us free to be forgotten
becomin paler/ a linear movement from south carolina
to missouri/ freedman/ landin in jackie wilson’s yelp/ daughters of
the manumitted swimmin in tina turner’s grinds/ this is chuck
berry’s town/ disavowin misega-nation/ in any situation/ & they let
us be/ electric blues & bo diddley’s cant/ rockin pneumonia &
boogie-woogie flu/ the slop & short-fried heads/ running always to
the river
/ from chambersbourg/ lil italy/ i passed everyday
at the sweet shoppe/ & waz afraid/ the cops raided truants/
regularly/ after dark i wd not be seen/ wit any other colored/
sane/ lovin my life/
in the ‘bourg/ seriously expectin to be gnarled/
hey niggah/ over here/
& behind the truck lay five hands claspin chains/
round the trees/ 4 more sucklin steel/
hey niggah/ over here/
this is the borderline/
a territorial dispute/
hey/ niggah/
over here/
cars loaded wit families/ fellas from the factory/ one or two
practical nurses/ black/ become our trenches/ some dig into cement
wit elbows/ under engines/ do not be seen/ in yr hometown/ after
sunset we suck up our shadows/
2) i will sit here
my shoulders brace an enormous oak
dreams waddle in my lap
round to miz bertha’s where lil richard
gets his process
runs backwards to the rosebushes/ a drunk man/ lyin
down the block to the nuns in pink habits
prayin in a pink chapel
my dreams run to meet aunt marie
my dreams draw blood from ol sores
these stains & scars are mine
this is my space
i am not movin
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