upon viewing the death of basquiat*

*once, my mother plagued a painting       swept oceanic throughout the dreams of a

  brown man in lower manhattan         three years later           she sun rose

  in california        swan dove into an oblique woman there are days i forget my name

      my name  i forget my claim    this kind of fire       that strikes black bodies into fever

  spliff        clean        cleaner, still   ain’t no mountain of needles or glass        pipes large

  enough to tow away my body       today, my mouth is a tomb      of the things people

  forget      such a power my maw, this spill wonder, this rapture of psalm      ain’t no

  way             I let the sun                      set us afire        again