here’s what you got to do for me: you got to understand me. I got to understand you.
it is War Time
the songs will have more vinegar to clean
the dance will be unless eradicated by a Sig Sauer MCX
on the floor of pulse
& pulse right
it is treason to kill or maim your fellow soldier
save that for the enemy
who is grand as a Titan
muscle skin only no palate upon
which to kiss a cheek &
beg a stare that will save us
the battle is impossible
do not allow it to be absurd wastes of our blessed
our sacks of organs that ultimately fail let us not white
hands on necks be full & unkilled here
it’s not very hard to do not kill it’s not very hard to do not touch
it’s not very hard to do & our songs of old told us so even if you aren’t fortunate
as us in terms of reading this King’s Fool’s Colonizer’s English
even if all you can do is listen even if all you can do is infer from the faces of
the listening my lyric calls for extreme humanity a kind
interaction with the heart beating do not beat
unless it’s that drum unless you see a hand on the neck of the city
rising under it the end of our afterlife
our post-Reconstructed apocalypse come to bear
it’s full
in full
sound the beat then by which time we are all enlisted
put on your most elaborate jumpsuit
wear your thirst trap backless wear your
burka fantastic wear your khaki pants crisp wear
your sweatshirt & decorate your head with the warmth of a reaper
wear your uniform
if we ain’t ready
like The Stylistics first performance on Soul Train
white platform shoes
tan lapels & earnest determination with a sheen
both Afro & body salt
then we ain’t finna no more make it outside
war is a thankless event
& we in it
this can be should we hold it right our bunker our port
the eye of the shit should we hold it right should we hold