(black) thoughts of a middle class comeuppance but then wary…

lest you be lassoed by the hood boy/ be noosed back to the wretched limbs of your family tree / lest all you try ghosting come back haunt yo’ happy home/ creep up your children’s spines like that crack-head did ya mama’s fire escape/ that one night in Brooklyn/ just a vagrant truth looking to be fed/ might set flame in they hearts/ turn it kitchen and whip they bloodline like it’s stir fry/ leave embers in they throat/ turn they mouth trap house till they open it and you get all the smoke

got a whole gang gang of ancestors & tar babies blackening they speech/ tap dancing & war chanting on they teeth/ got a li’l Harriet in there/ li’l CLR with a splash of Garvey/ Ii’l Rodney, Huey and Sabrina with a pinch of Pookie for good measure/ some Sambo & Hambone up in there too yeah

while you steady talking Colgate & Ivy League dreams/ talking family Crest and crease your bleached tooth smile/ for preemptive palatability with precious pomp & circumstance of the pallid people/ talkin’ enunciate… talkin’ tawww-king/ talking tall king from tar king/ talking blood & dust brushed off Battle Royale shoulders/ talkin’ son take these rocks I handled the boulders/ never mind the mountain you never shoulda had to climb in the first place/ just to peak at a false summit/ glimpse a chimera of a charade/ to know the Sisyphean slide back into the bowels of all you ran from/ when the towers topple/ when stolid ivory turns fumbling chalk/ when it all falls down

The Ellisonian Basement is a collection of my writings on Blackness & visibility in the post-modern world, OR Duboisian double consciousness under surveillance.

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