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The Anchor is Heavy...

And in a rush the crushing weight of living while Black
In America rushes to the forefront of my eyes and my manhood
Is dashed against glassy rocks and crystal lies held by
Tanned liars…
Savagery Is an element of surprise in war…
Intolerance is the breath of life to heathens…
And incoming is the seas of despair wrapping seaweeds and
Illegal weed around my legs and flinging me into this smog
Choked air as though trapped in a Tibetan tiger trap and in
The real trap hood stars burn into supernovas and flame on
Or simply flame out as quickly as flamers flash themselves to
Men and there is nothing but glass caressing my calloused feet

The notion of substance is etched in invisibility
Shallow or transparent are parents of antiquity

Nothing can be heard except my failure
Nothing can be seen except the black void of my skin

I cannot see indeed the greed that holds over
Iniquity, feel me, is chilly as the cold shoulder
Hung over, though my soul’s sober and restless
Confess this to men of thought and the dead bless this
Reckless and defective, a detective of houses and Holmes
Detest wigs and weaves, collective, til Ishmael takes the throne

And in the rush of the Nile I dream…of currents carrying
Diamonds and blood and papyrus in stone bottles
Glassless and faceless, touched by soil enriched with tears
And dried upon racks abused by salted pork and plucked hens
Drenched in lard and cured in venison over colorless coals
And invisible heat only speaking in waves to the wind as though
Angels fluttered wings in unison at friendly flowers and flirted
With life as she danced hurriedly with death in rapid step as
The bass boomed from drums wrapped in bison skin and sticks
Affixed to rattlers as I awaken to a crime report on the news

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