Tuesday, 5 May 2020

5 Poems by Truth Thomas

Born in the City of Lakes

Purple made the Richter dance,

drummed through gates

of every ear’s resistance,

triggered high heel boot tsunamis,

heck-a-slammed godly,

the body of all guitars, the only one

to make them come, running —

Purple, crumble-cracked walls

of MTV's segregated keep,


swallowed up record label masters

over masters —

crushed them mofos whole,

in Paisley jaws

of sequined tectonic plates —

this Purple, our Purple.


And God said it was good,

as doves cried happy tears at the news,

and Sheila played timbales into glee,

and Mayte dressed up smiles

to dance upon their graves.

And God said it was funky —

damn funky, the epicenter of this quake:

the sound of a train approaching —

a "Slave" shaking out of his name.


At Motel 6

Bedbugs worship every mattress concert — suckers

          for

          humping

          headboard

          drums

          for

          pillows

          playing

          moans

          for

Every worshiping bedbug, mattress concerts suck —


The Bloody Red Wheelbarrow
(after WCW)

so much is built

upon


a black mother’s

child


pooling blood in

streets


shot by the white

police.


In Chicago

his badge of blues, made Rekia blood fruit

          firing

his

homicidal

entitlement

          firing

his

acquittal

Ammunition —

          firing

his badge of blues, made Rekia bleeding fruit.


What Officer Weekley Said After Shooting

Seven-Year-Old Aiyanna Jones

“It fired. The bullet hit a child, ” like his gun

was

crop

circle

mystery,

was

poltergeist

tantrum

possessed —

was

like a child, his gun — It. The bullet fired. Hit.


[theskinnypoetryjournal@gmail.com]

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