The patrons of jazz
funded funerals
in funhouses.
African Fractals
for future reference.
Congo squared
divided by train tracks.
Warded
like music
by measures.
Sustained my breath
and held down
my whole note.
Bubbles cascade
over parallel lines,
etched in stretch
down her thighs.
Held my head
against pull
of undertow.
The bathtub ring
circled my eyes.
Drained
of everything
that had once tried
to drown me.
Decades of
environmental
degradation.
Mismanagement
of the levee system.
Poverty overcame
patience.
History
headed
by hounds.
The pacing
of the dirge.
The crumbling
of my infrastructure.
I caved in.
I felt neglected.
You had
abandoned me.
She seemed what
I was missing.
Filled my glass
as soon as
I emptied it.
Lent her voice
to sing my song.
Her kiss shook me
more than I expected.
Took me straight
where I belong.
The firming
of the foundation.
The hardening
of fresh concrete.
The diasporic
shift of center.
Washed away
my sins.
Washed
my feet.
How much
are we subject
to the history
we reference?
If we sing
of mighty battles,
will we conjure them?
The siege of Orleans
in her 12th year,
saw God.
Black boys
dancing on
bottle caps
heard voices.
Strangled
in dance step.
Sourced from
the broken wind
of overgrown seas.
Hormones
within the wave.
Dismantled
more black keys
than white.
Some songs
we cannot sing.
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