Blanche Bruce Does the Modernism
let us go then let us go then I said
and the band was I lone every which
way way my spit slicked the sax’s brass chitlins. I said
such wet would
mud dust and soil red rock. I said
doors to some room blown out the out
blown in. let us go then let us go then. I said
check the spit’s phlegm
tenements. I said
its slow typhoon syrup. it blooms the axe up and
loams gypsum I said
earths marblebaster. let us go then let us go then I
said.
preference of red or white I said
my spit. where I was was where to
be when I was there and what I made was it since it was where it was
wasn’t it I said.
but the body mustn’t be there I said.
but the shapes are
there I said
here’s what we’ll do. let us go then let us go then wailing
and whaling till one was off the chain I said
fuck it. keeping time in a
gorilla suit for the mud to come on uh i uh ii uh iii ... uh cxvii and
took it to the bridge to throw down wet
wet
wet I said.
mold on that alabarble a salad
a crop gainin on yuh in a gorilla suit I said.
gaining on you I said
I’ll take
my time and yours and the bandstand gardened out let us go then let
us go then and then we
we
we
Copyright Credit: Editor’s Note: This poem is part of a larger portfolio, “Freedom of Shadow: A Tribute to Terry Adkins.” The rest of the related work can be found in the September 2014 issue of Poetry.
Source: Poetry (September 2014)