t u p r


You say, I would've then.

You say, I would’ve then. At the lunch counter or behind the hose? In a Selma jail or hooded veil? My dear superhero, for whom 100 blows?

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So what if we danced

So what if we danced, called on gods for deliverance & it was so? My Shango sees your Jesus & raise you ten to hear your whip crack no more.

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Puckering your lips

Puckering your lips can get you dead even if no sound comes out; even if the song’s for your heart. You can’t ask Henry. He’s our example.

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Crack's Shanghai cousin

Crack’s Shanghai cousin is in these stills. It’s the dead eyes, blackened lips. In the port, the bowel-heavy ships stay afloat on the tide.

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The revolutionaries won

The revolutionaries won, fed their hungry & invented clichés. Pot-bellied, they stopped noting the past & were deaf to the rustling bush.

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