Thursday, July 17, 2014

In Death We Trust

Cover of the newspaper read, 4 Mexican men stabbed two girls with tennis racquets
Raphael Nadel couldn’t save them, he was tearing off his tee shirt after winning a slam
Stalking Sandra Bullock, I would bring roses to her door, leave her alone forever more
Rock’n Rollers come and go speaking of Lupita Nyong’o, we have come for you Alek Wek
Bombing Sudan, for every dark skinned girl we take, we bring you Terry Richardson
Where have all our black models gone, Roshumba, Naomi, Grace Jones at Studio 54
Some killed for Allah, some killed for Jesus, I spent that summer mourning Jennifer Levin
Oh Jodie, I shot Reagan for you, sitting at a bar called Heaven, smoking underage girls

Getting a skin fade from my Russian barber, he cuts diamonds into the skulls of thugs
Jewish professors from City College, engage them in conversations about The Wailing Walls
Postmodernist machismo, strange men at a barber shop carrying on as blood brothers
Prostitution in basement next door, Hasidic men walk in and out, talking among themselves
At the Projects, word of mouth, selling smack to white professionals, a knife to the throat
Oral sex in the alley ways of Indian restaurants on Lexington Avenue, memories of home
Dead white boys waxed in black scum, their tongues tip to speak like street, ghetto, hood
Bellevue hospital, they are carried in blood soaked, cut up and choked, at night they sleep

Murder of a Hollywood actress, Adrienne Shelley, The Unbelievable Truth, he hung her to die
How blonde were you, Trust, she walked as books circled the sun, light bulbs glowing above her
There was a feather for every cap you wore, your eyes looked onto a world of wordsmiths
With memorable lines that stood golden, as if they were clipped to a clothespin in the sky
Under blue clouds, in an open field, you lay on your back, looking through eyes of a camera
Perfect girl, whistles surrounded you, followed you into empty buildings, loser lounge cafes
There was life in that body, when he tied you up to die, there was still life in your body
You would not just give up to death, you came from true love, fire hearted poetess girl
In your garden we will sing without words, hum without sound, make music drowning

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