Resisting the Poem/ Giving into the Poem
What is poetry? I go with a few quotes by Nicanor Parra, most often: la poesia es mierda, eso lo decia Clara Sandoval. Poetry is shit. Shit is the distilled chemical mush of digestion. La poesia ciertamente es mierda, con toda propia. Yo hablo español desde que no conocia que espanol es lenguage europea. desde que cerca 1996. en america yo estudiaba español, los poetas, los filosoferos, todo eso: la literatura y historia, estudiaba en colegio y universidad. Pensaba que el español era lenguahe de personas con piel morada Pero que no, solo nuestro pensamos eso en los estados unidos: los perdidos. Nosotros no sabemos nada del mundo. Solo hablamos ingles.
Hum. Om. Ahh. Aohmmmmm.
Om kali kali. Protect the black boys.
Rome said, I know what you want. I'm your Young Nikka. I said no, I don't do that. I'm not like that. And I'm not. But I miss him. I wanted his friendship. I didn't want to sext. I wanted the long letters. I wanted him to read literature, emancipate himself. He's on parole. I want to find him. See if he's ready for a friendship. Flirting is okay, but I want him to accept that it's a friendship. And I'm an ally. I'm too old for you! I have nothing, you have nothing. But I have inside information about the war that targets YOU. I won't bring it up unless I have to. You're a tough guy, yes. But you're black. Now, I'm willing to say what that means here. If you're not ready (if that realization comes on an insanity plea), Then no friendship. Waiting and letting go.
If I was you, if I was black, I wouldn't trust me either, not with anything. You tried to call me collect from prison. You know I care about you. I didn't answer because I don't trust you. I couldn't add funds to your card.
You make/made me feel young. Bring me back to 1993. Straight there, man. I didn't know anything about what white people had in store for the boys I liked, back then. I didn't see you all in a row, shackled, but still so incredibly beautiful, powerful even in such small bodies, in such a small space, no light, no fresh air except in the yard. Om. Let all them people go. I'll find you if you want to be found. I'll learn to shoot, too. We'll hit the road. Bonnie the old maid and Clyde, the/her YN. No, I don't like that term. It's prison talk. You're free, if you're around me. I love you.