Born in the City of Lakes
Purple made the Richter dance,
drummed through gates
of every ear’s resistance,
triggered high heel boot tsunamis,
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
Every worshiping bedbug, mattress concerts suck —
The Bloody Red Wheelbarrow
so much is built
a black mother’s
pooling blood in
shot by the white
his badge of blues, made Rekia blood fruit
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
like a child, his gun — It. The bullet fired. Hit.
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