Curtains

                                   Whose held belly at center she frame. Situs poised true

                                   in situ. The Africanist of glimmer gaze upon

                                   dark nations in return. The sifter, supplants glitter.

                                   oiled and brandish, rouge and lippish, fetish and brogue, thick

                                   lipstick, swole blue hip, the wish and the aureole, the

                                   saddle and the want nipple, the ones high priestess doing

                                   a high thigh curtain, unlashed in soft netting, unleashed

                                   in that poppin’ hair, or that grassy flat, gods beginning,

                                   or not so Venus, sung to the oblong glare, women

                                   mustering, a host of sistren, the host of our lost black

                                   semantic doubling over heavy sienna. It’s

                                   the viewer’s failure to weave and dazzle at artifice

                                   in lust with hot comb burn and altar kneeled to the back

                                   at home temple, us like a body in a stocking, some

                                   days, lip o’ lovely in rainbow crotch shot. How I love

                                   her stung blue sofa, crouched and ejaculating hifi

                                   hydrant sprung from childhood’s articulate couch. father

                                   disrobed and hung like a thoroughly dented drape, against

                                   the dismantled, fussy mother and burnt afterbirth

                                   spilling along the interior lawn hosed and shiny

                                   and thus diluted melanin sibling packaged in

                                   blackgrass and star apple and flung one side of the fawn room

                                   to the next. what black women be kept from. that loom look

                                   haunting the iris. hurled into the flat black of baby

                                   sleep, the intentional length goes on among infants’

                                   witness, from the rhythm of tone in a sister’s hip. her

                                   lovers dressed inside huge tits. the sag coo you amply

                                   finger. the radiators hissing up the thin, sheer seams.

(drape) sleepbaby

through days spent between body, and so

midlove in the hydrant sprung of green

living, an articulation of

sex and notice, whose father’s grass makes

humus earth, genetic. In other

words, some gods begin in a sleep swing

grassy infants, marked by netting of

bush; that poppin’ hair; wombs of couple

fucking. the splendid melanin of

dirt soil, drench planets, brandish and rogue

rouge and lippish, rough witness behind

curtained lash, the birth of lovers dressed

easily soft inside black’s huge tits.