I’m saying nothing about vapidity, or emptiness.
I’ve had epiphanies of magnitude:
A strand of 4c hair unfurling the Omega Centauri,
A Black femme’s laugh sounding off in quarks.
I’m saying dynamism, fundamental.
I’m thinking of the grand irony of miracles, how my
family keeps dying but you’ve still let me touch you.
I know recognition doesn’t mean salience.
I want to say that risk unfences us, leads us to the
slab with some good meat and our auntie’s brownest cognac,
but truth is I’ve been hiding in the dark so long
that I’m antedating this singularity’s eruption.
Apathy is a comfort. Maybe I do mean empty.
Honest? I can see the stars so fucking clear here,
but I’m still feeling like the hood don’t love me,
so who am I gonna walk with?