This reading is not going to go well.
Guild rezhboosted: applying lube then forgetting about it and then falling asleep in below freezing and then sodomizing church boys, forgetting our dicks are icicles and then accidentally breaking our dongs off in their asschivs and then going to court with the undeniable evidence of our pornises in their buttoces and then being firethrown by the judge and then having star sumo wrestlers skydive metric-ton asses first into every church and cathedral and then freeing the religious populus ideologically for socialist policies and then nurturing a loving society that embraces peace and kindness and then making art our major export and then uniting humanity in harmony and then using that power to fuel genetics to sentientize each organism and then extending that even to non-living matter and then throwing a party with cake that swishes down our gongs. That’s what we’re about.
The other day I was in the street
Hearkening to a wonderous beak
Hearkening to a trundlesome peep
Flying above to roost in a tree.
I stopped in my place and continued to peak
Marvelous birds in a marvelous stream
Washing the sky and washing my e'e
Migrating south for the sun and iced tea.
Regardless. You were
Sitting in your room
Doing homework or texting friends
You might have even seen the birds
And just walked by to do your duties
Not tilting your head skywards.
And then Gwendolyn Brooks you angel I was gonna write in good essay prose and I was gonna sit patiently and read to the end of the reading and meditate on what was before me but you have done it and you have said the word. My pain my suffering my violence I ask the futon-ridden parents and they get slothy angry fat drunk and stop having sex and thank God for the internet at this point for all the free porn why gee whiz it’ll make it easier to send the kids to college and they do not answer and I walk through crowds and ask why they walk by coldly when birds of every color fly above and blacks still churn for them down below and I do not know but I’m on the cusp. Today the maestra speaks and she will cry and I will cry and I will have my pen in my hand and there will be a poem dotted with tears, because, Gwendolyn Brooks, you said it, you delicious piece of Earth you called this the time of detachment the time of the cold when we gotta do what necessity calls and we forget the speaker of those hard words is Satan and we lose the vaccine from death and the draining of hot blood from the soul and we get the vaccine from the black, the reborn, the new-eyed in the New World and we lose the vaccine smashing it on the floor and letting it blow in the wind Gwendolyn you are my sister and I love you, the mud is coursing through my veins and I am on fire with life I’ve just got to move and shout at someone I almost kicked my hot tea all over the place and there’s a stark bland penis called the stacks I’m in the ballsack of and I want to kick it and its sterility and I want to raid its Arabic Islamic texts in gold leaf and speak بسم الرحمان الراحيم and teach all my friends how to say it, not how to pronounce the letters but how to eat them, live them, and let them fuse with every gory second of your tongue and teeth and throat and the crazy hormones that shoot off with good art. I want to get them to old school black nationalists and brim them with hope and take the Confucius books to look up the critics who sit relaxing and compare him to Aristotle and how Confucius would have spent years training them to stand up, to never cease, to approach the CEO himself when he does not obey tian, the order of heaven, the cry that goes off instinctually in our hearts when we find our funds are going to factory owners’ AK’s keeping their workers at a single meal a day sixteen hours of six days a week and you wonder if it’s just for the hell of it they didn’t get a machine you wonder if they’re conducting medical studies on decay or if Satan really exists and has got them wrapped around his cute little god-damned finger. The maestra is going to cry tonight because her people’s art was sold and they went up and slaughtered Tupac Shakur the unbuyable, whoa is big-ahr so when crosses burned on your lawn no one gave a damn but she sees the power and the hope in the possibilities if we would just fight the academy and come together and we can and we may and long before that point we’ll be crying because art does not pass by your eye and you don’t grade it objectively you grade it with call and response and if you’re not yelling then nothing is happening. There were few abolitionists in the Union’s army and there never really will be any anywhere if we keep just obeying but when our spilled ink goes to the shelves it goes down the drain. The rich drink it as sweetening their tea and piss it with the tea, too, insidious great circle becomes so pointed it’s nothing, pretending to be stuck in beginning and ending but it’s in the loophole; on its way out.
It’s Praetorius when I come through
Blowin bubbles in my wine, what do you do?
Oh, it’s glorious when I come nuzz you
You see I’ve got this big bag
Uh-uh it ain’t full of boulders
It’s full of old hags who ain’t got any shoulders
It’s ripe to feed them meats of cactuses I eat
It’s ripe, dance with those strangers you meet
Ginger crackin’ in my lies, I, taste, my, veins
It’s want who needs you
Cause you know the relay of your brains
Neurons fused up to bombs inside the city of the dead
As catacombs crackle you see the corpses who fled
You fed 12 billion now I’m takin’ it back for the 6.5
Snappin on pentagrams cracking great pyramids
It’s ripe to be alive
