PLUM HONEY PLUM SMOOTH PLUM OVERABUNDANCE PLUM SPIRAL
PLUM MERITOCRACY PLUM HAY BEETLE PLUM WEIGHT OF ALL PLUM
OVERTURNED REINSTATED REDEFINED PLUM SHIVER LIKE HONEYBEES
PLUM SASHAY IN THE GOLD SWAT PLUM INTERRUPTION FROM THE
SUB/DIMENSION PLUM RUTABAGA PLUM SACRIFICE ON MOLE HILL
PLUM BELIEF THAT ONE DAY THE SIGNS WILL BE CLEAR AS FROST PLUM
FIRE FISH LIKES NOTHING RAW PLUM FOOL PLUM IRONY PLUM MEAT
THAT GRINDS AND REDEFINES PLUM SUFFRAGE FOR AN OVERDUE
SPRING PLUM HONEYSUCKLE PLUM PLUM WHAT WASTE IS IMPLICIT IN
FRUITION PLUM MIGHT PLUM DIRECT HOLY PLUM HOLY PLUM
pretending at something,
plum split open,
pirouetting up riptides
polling & proclivities &
to dream past the past of shackle men and liberation lost. to dream in black neon. looking back long ago, wearing visors for vision scars; seeing the unseen and undocumented.
loosening lassos on ancestry like unraveled fruit-by-the-foot. veins protruding up-n-out of aberdeen skin, glistening ivory coast spirit. to think not of shackles broken, but of a time before. rewriting history to see theirself in it. a land before time or a time before land or property or gazes.
flowing into futures of black uprising
and bloodbath cherry streets. to
see a future with violence; restorative.
feigning no outline of peace—sangin’
we shall overcome with automatics tucked
in arm, black fists raised. to not see
any more fourths, nan more -olumbuses’. just
me and huey and ms. davis shooting the
shit after shooting some —————————
reimagine aliens as noble beings. laughing at
our inferiority. not due to colour, nor race, but inferior in
our capacity for hate. seeing a new type of first-contact.
one devoid of erasure,
one rife with life spittle.
reconnected to a vision,
most high (inshallah).
laying purple reefs royal,
cross unshackled, exalted ankles;
still hullabaloos swaying up like lost ballots. to sow the reaping
and taste moss on your fingertips. sprinkling uncertainty with
generosity & pinging onyx over alabaster.
take three steps to your left and grab everyone into
the fold. stolen truths cost a smooth tree ninety-nine
when your time is up.
sitting honest with self, slowly, my roux ever-burning.
tell me sweetness on the solstice. summer begat spring begat
winter begat —— i know of no new beginnings, rudimentary in
hope, palm leaves cover my eyes from centuries of dismay. is this,
harkening in my soul, the call that i’ve been waiting
for? one more chance for sanctity? awash in bacon grease
and crystallized syrups of dangerous beauty. unleashed
into high-line sierras, whisked flat with bounteous