Thursday, April 01, 2010

4.1 Call me boy

or do not. Don't call
or not boy. I'll pull down
your tower and tackle
and tickle you until
you cry. That's facts.
If you can't say it or not
to me because I'm black
or breasted and you
think that makes words
enemies, you're not all
right. Boy's a floating thing
I want tied to my wrist
in pink ribbon, a lighter
noun than man, object
or person or a place
I could pass through or
beside maybe. Call me boy
and I'll maintain myself
on the skin of the ocean--
my chain, an inconsequential
reminder below the dogma
of the channel.

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