Feb 01, 2006: On hearing of the death of Coretta Scott King
This long slow march of personhood
I've been on singing, sighing
for a promised land--everywhere
I see a people--should be fat on
chocolate milk and honey sweet brown
We grow and grow--like houses across hillside
like the numbers on price tags
hopping--hip record sales
Still in the plantation city
Poor-boy got no thing/no where
no body of law
For what is my how-do-you-do freedom
for my skin-brother--stank still in beast belly
Fry up servings of fat success
the states of secretaries and judges
crispy coal skin, gritty hearts
Where does a dream go when you wake up
and 4 decades of visions
leaves most of your kind shadowed in some unkind valley
We could hold hands for more opportunities
than photos
for more promise than policing
Blame who?
Slave Master Blenman's been dead 400 years
but it's his bastard son's son son descends grave ward in a drug haze
Blame God
Blame God who ought to have known better
than to stick his name on a vain promise
Blame amerikkka
for not obeying it's own ink
Let it capitulate the beautiful and talented so
we'll keep the dark ugly-down
Remind us
how far we haven't come over
And how far?
Too far to fling flowers on her grave
I throw words at you
Spoken Word Performance Black Month History Celebration, Vancouver BC, Feb 26, 2006