Posts tagged upfromsumdirt
Posts tagged upfromsumdirt
budget plan for an african space station, upfromsumdirt © 2010
i strap on africa:
my metaphor, my phantasm.
africa is the yoke i harness
my imagination to, pulling
me up from this assimilated coma;
tan docker’s and my tattered olive
hoodie make for a poor man’s
midnight is the work-clothes
i fit my words into; i’m a pullman
car porter for old adages and new
mythicisms; i’m a houngan in hijab
and overalls, a workhorse for
disbanded rituals, i’m a witchdoctor
with a hipster’s aspirations -
half Steven Jobs, half Stephen Biko.
on this land / in these asphalt fields
i’m the onyx ox: a beast AND a burden.
all city / nothing urban; my insights
hold out from the late, great Luba;
so yes, my ebonics are quite bionic.
you see, Rome was too built in a day,
back in 1475 or so - when Europa
began dismantling her rivals, securing
trade routes, salvage rights and such.
you know the saying:
to the victims go the spoiled.
but alas, you’ve already lost interest
in my language, so i’ll just leave it to
a Kathryn Stockett-type to tell you
my story of genocide. gentrified.
i’m an urban water buffalo plowing
burnt soils so seeds will shoot forth
feathers and jute harvest, my spells
sprouting outer-space on the sidewalks.
from this sorry cinema i carve fertility
dolls into collage - from a white shadow
black creatives softly creak with anger,
having not enough of an edge, a ledge,
or mantel space for legacy (in a land
where legacies, either proven or pilfered,
are extremely lucrative).
we sculpt a citizenship from empty popcorn
boxes, soda pop cans and the discarded candy
bar wrappers that whirl and spin in circles
on discarded corners; its not dimlit, its well
bright and we all see it.
but man-made poltergeists need
the fiction of “midnightness”
letting what passes for life bleed allusion
into our lungs because hope is the heaviest
form of precipitation.
separated from myth, america has given us
asthma / but we’re a pulmonary car porter
people lugging suitcases for shango.
we are free, but only if we forage for it.
so, before it becomes too late, before
bandwidth becomes our only
breathing apparatus, we really
should unionize our fairy tales.
pushed past the end, the breath
has bite but offers no new blueprint
for the blackstar line forensics squad
to graft parables from, no poetry
to put an end to the grand imperial
dragon’s pallbearers guild…
post-omega, these teeth have
a presidential tint, short rocks glinting
black / not obama-like (unless his daddy)
- my stories - the stimulus package
for a black-art-movement’s
this poem is a transatlantic salve,
a trade / a barter system, inscribing
spiritual security numbers on all
the jagged surfaces of america’s
stolen property / in this breath, us IS,
usblackpeople is all human
claim tickets for the ancestors.
on my tongue there are two trains
a-rollin’… you dont hafta do a thing,
but let the message board you.
and of course, you could tip, too.
- upfromsumdirt © 2010
untitled, from the ‘couch art’ series, 2007
abstrack africana, original thesis - 2007
'king thing' upfromsumdirt 2012