Jun 19, 2015
Disparity
Nature doesn’t draw white lines that divide black from the fray and choose just how to hear the hearsay
Believe that she is drawing a branch that grows, molds, molts and opens her ears to the lovely blood in our ribbed drums.
But the rhythm is stricken with the pallid frail disparities of the flesh: face paints, love organs, ritual scars
Her effervescent eyes pierce past these and deep to your tender bones as you feel the shiver before the big dirt nap, The final coo and lonely lullaby back to the crib you little baby