New Mutiny

Looks to me like you’ve been disinherited, mute-chanting     while sirens scatter the will into a dull blade that can be attached to the muzzle of a rifle like a shadow     or   braid joke.    Stray dreadlock at the bus stop/ black stranded on blue/ and grape flavored bayonet that’s the word, French, daisy-hued lemon enunciation of when. I heard you were leaving this country     and     you tried   holding Rockefeller to daddy’s     promise     in the corridor of  being reasonable     and that he who could not sing should be made to sing     and the crow   pecking at synthetic kinky reggae would stow ’way home     If we   start thinking about the things   that keep us   in   a   place     we know we shouldn’t be in      and as the gates swing   open   jump rope like boxers training in velour short-shorts   and spitfire   just to keep brides in the jungle     sequestered /  the sore lavender nipples of the dairy cows add a rude dimension to the tasting menu   but that’s   what feeds you this sour mold juice, like the tiny yelling hands that piece together these machines   american dolls   and   darn that     charming cardigan made in Stanley Cowell’s   incantatory   shroud of a   winter power outage  ,  every shimmering object settles   in cold blood but I will not be interrupted of it .    I’m sending you two black babies     the greeting card reads     the wood of the reed splits     like the chief’s prophecy/ mask ,     Ma     remembers     the one that sold   her first was   it her father     what is   a   father   bath on   netted   lots .  of stray turtle doves   in this tribe,   ruler and thundering     Bula gnawing on the missing leg     of a queen’s   stool, hers, m aa fa s nursing trumpet was   she her father     I will not be interrupted   even to be my own father   watching me   dance   and earn him   a village .  even by Black Christ of the Tropics   begging to learn his name   in silver verses     I will not be interrupted     I     will   not   be interrupted