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I remember
About a week after
September 11th...

I was in a local drugstore,
And at the counter
Was a display
Of American flags...

The kind that by that day
Everyone had affixed to their cars -
As wind-flapped proclamations of 
Patriotism,

Like that guy in his Big Black Truck
Who rolled down his window when
He saw my Muslim wife
In her pretty-patterned headscarf

And yelled at her:
"Hey you sand-nigger terrorist - 
Go back to your own fuckin' country!"

She did not get the chance to yell back -
As he sped off - flag flapping fast in the wind -
That she was born in Dallas

And there, at the local drugstore,
Emblazoned on that Red, White, and Blue
Display

Right under where it said,
"US Flags! $1 Each!",

Was the caption that read:

"MADE IN PAKISTAN"...

AfricanaStore

Walking by the Africana Art Store in the strip mall -

Looking through the window at the masques,

And spears,

And cowrie shells,

And the statues carved of ebony hung on the wall,

I can smell the shea butter and I have the faintest taste of sweet potato on my tongue.

As my heart begins to vibrate

To the beat of Djembe drums sitting

On the shelves inside -

My heart is reminded by the inventory,
Of what it feels like
to be

an IMPORT.

B-More: For Freddy Gray

When you’re poor

You’re most likely born to a poor parent

That parent most likely lives in Baltimore and with addiction

So, it’s more likely you were born premature

So you’ll live in the hospital and you won’t go home

Until you weigh at least 5 pounds

And home is most likely the projects

Where the paint is peeling off the walls

When you’re poor and a baby born in Baltimore, you learn real fast

How to pick things up off the floor to put into your mouth

Like binkies, cheerios, pennies

And paint chips...

More than likely that paint peeling off your walls -

Was put there a long time ago,

So it’s mostly likely leaded like old gasoline -

So that by the time you’re 3, you most likely have more

Than 30 milligrams per of poison metal in your blood

And by age 6, you suffer from all the acronyms -

That get you put into special Ed.

And they all begin with the letter "A"...

A letter that you never actually get to see on your report card.

So, more than likely, you drop out of school -

But when you’re poor and from Baltimore...

 - and a dropout,

“Drug dealer” and “car thief” are the only jobs in the classified...

So more than likely, you go to jail...

A lot.

And in there, you get plenty of time to philosophize

Over just what it means to be poisoned

Then you get out and it’s back

To the streets with all its angels and demons.

Until one day you actually meet one in the flesh -

Who on your behalf, sues the State over its paint.

And you win and get a check as compensation,

For what you carry in your blood

Now, more than likely, you’re going to get the hell out of B-more.. 

Maybe go to Art School...

But first you gonna hit the corner store to buy you some food.

When you’re poor and from Baltimore -and you got poisoned blood -

Well, those are the very reasons the cops pull you over.

This time though, you got a check in your pocket

But more than likely the police,

Don’t appreciate your newfound attitude

So, when you talk back, they tackle you

Into a bicycle rack, cuff you and throw you in the back

Now you’re just a can of soda pop in a paddy wagon

That’s waiting to be shaken -

As they laugh and drive more fast

When you’re poor and from Baltimore

More than likely you didn’t pay attention in Science class -

But now Newton and his 3 laws of motion are rattling around

Inside of your head as you bounce around inside the back of the van

And soon your spinal cord snaps, giving away

To a very heavy truth:

That when you’re poor and from Baltimore

Lead is most likely the thing that’s going to kill you.

As you’re wheeled away with your body strapped onto the gurney -

Your lead check falls heavily out of your pocket

Floating away down Fulton Street

Down to where nobody can really know

Because when you’re poor and from a place like Baltimore,

Nobody Can Really Know

Is exactly where your dreams go…

did you know that lead poisoning is a leading health issue among low-income people of color living in old neighborhoods where lead based paint was used because it was cheap? This was the case throughout Baltimore - Freddy himself suffered from lead poisoning - and subsequent behavior problems. This explains his run-ins with police and their propensity to harass him (and others)...leading to his tragic demise - Taj

All Black Everything

Gimme that all black everything / that black-on-black /that afro black/that "Good Jesus!" black/ that Jesus with an afro black/that anise black / like licorice jelly beans that make you pee green / black so black that you hafta use another color to describe it  / like scary alleys and punches to the eyeball  / Black like Grace Jones' obsidian collar bones and shoulders the color of cacao beans / Black like Cicely Tyson, Alex Wek and Roshumba / Black like Jimmy Walker dating Anne Coulter

NOT Uncle Remus black but that Harriet Tubman packin a pistol black / Prosser, Turner, DeSalinas black / even that John Brown was down black / that Sunshine in Harlem Knights black / that Yaphet Koto, you know - the kind of black that makes your eyes bloodshot red / that black that was the color of original skinheads/that blue black and Purple Rain/ boot black and Soul Train/ like black power and black pain

Don’t gimme that “blackisbeautiful”  clichéd kind of black /  gimme that black that makes you clutch your purse tighter on elevators  /  the kinda black that you bring home purposely to piss your parents off / 

That black that’s the background at the end of every movie / you know, what the white credits roll over… / that black like double dutch / black like the skillet handed down from my grandmother

I don’t want that black that killed Malcolm / or the meltdown of the Panthers black /not the fathers who didn’t whup R.Kelly’s ass black / Naw, gimme that Black like Samir and Aja Black / black like Ester Rolle’s cheek bones /  black like the music that Elvis stole  /  Black like rappers got beef / Black like the food in the belly of the beast 

Black like Stacy Adams gators / black Like Now&Laters / like Red is a color AND a Koolaid flavor /  That black that’ll make you wanna slap you mama / Black like she’ll beat that ass if you even think about tryin it / Black like we’ll rent it before we think to buy it

give me that black-love black/that Barack and Michelle-love black/ that I kicked you out set your s*** on fire and I still took you back black/that Michael Jackson with the big nose black /that grease-popping food cooked at home black/give me that FUBU and phat farm black/that flip flops and house shoes black/that spit on the broom if it touches you black/that coat hangar antenna, back of the remote broke and missing black/

Gimme that black that some colors run from / and other colors wanna be 

Close your eyes – gimme that black that you can’t help but see

That All Black Everything / The Black you find everywhere

Black like a sun collapsed by gravity

Black like we tryna get free
Like the black I will always see in you

Like the black that'll always lives in me...

That
All
Black
Everything

Protestation

We haven't always had February

But now we have CNN 

And Comcast and Xfinity

Isn’t technology grand?

Isn’t modernity great?

Yes indeed!

The revolution will get televised

So that you don’t have to participate...

Pushbutton activism

Point and click protests

Facebook a cause and email a petition

I wonder if fiber optics can carry winds of patriotic sedition?

Hmmmm… might be...

Chasing: a poem

I wrote the perfect poem in my sleep

And woke up sweating

Arms crossed over my chest: coffin position

I dreamt I prayed the perfect prayer

And when I opened my eyes, I forgot what I asked for

I remember I was reciting Quran in REM sleep

Until - 

Interrupted by the hip-hop song on my clock radio alarm

I come to, head boppin'...

boppin'boppin'boppin'boppin'boppin'

In between bli/nks I sometimes spy angels

Who vanish as soon as I squint

I swear their wings brush my shoulder

Making me turn around to confront thin air

I daydream of sitting with Jesus and Muhammad

Until they look over at me wondering how I found their cypher

Their greetings of “Peace be upon you”,  are the only thing they leave behind

As they shimmer into a wisp of smoke

Peace that                         air like a butterfly

                  dances in the 

That I cannot run fast     enough 

To catch

I want to see God so bad, 

I think that’s why I am nearsighted

So I close my eyes and hope to bump into Him in the dark

Maybe –

Just maybe, if I keep chasing shadows…

Somehow, I will find the things that cast them…

Eff Kwanza

The only thing that remains is knowledge…and God

We try to create a new life

Resurrecting a dead language,

Retracing a lost heritage

Whose steps have been lost by the spreading

Of the sands of Sahara

Footsteps lost –

At the foot of the pyramids

No, they don’t speak Egyptian any more

But we toss around words in impotent reclamation

All of a sudden we are the children of Osiris

Citizens not of Africa or Egypt –

Instead we say we’re from Kemet

All ‘cuz the word means black

But our cursory knowledge forgets

Or we don’t know-

That the word also means the ending of things

Symbolized by charcoal that burns bright and then out

Like we did…

The only thing that remains is Knowledge and God

We say that we…

Were kings and queens

But somebody has to be the subject,

Somebody has the be ruled

Starved and whipped

And quarantined in the hood

Somebody had to drag the blocks that built Giza and Timbuktu

Go ask Shaka, he knows about that…

Strong black Zulu hero was he…

Better yet, go ask Ntombazi, his rival’s mama

Locked up by a vengeful Shaka with man-eating hyenas

One can imagine her testimony of Black sanctimony as dogs ate her alive

Leaving bones…

That tell the story of Yoruba and Ashanti

Tribes we’ve reclaimed in new Black 70s Pride

With convenient amnesia – blotting out their Uncle Tom history:

Them selling their own kind to fair skinned invaders and traders

We proud Mandinka and Masai warrior descendants

Weighed down with manacles that severed our connection to Motherland

So Nat Turner died a death not mourned or known by the people he wanted to save

‘Cuz we were absent, at the theater clapping with glee

At Bojangles dancing with Shirley Temple

We blink more now than we did then

At black bodies swinging from trees

‘Cuz didn’t they simply look like our newly adopted God?

Our savior Jesus Christ

Both our lots in life being sacrifice?

In the new millennium,

We reject the whips and plantations and cotton gins

But somehow shit-carrying chitlins are still a delicacy

Cuts of pork “Massa” wouldn’t even want to feed his dog

Have become a tightfisted legacy,

Like King…

We finally got our holiday to celebrate his life

Nevermind his plagiarism and fucking sistas that aint his wife

Malcolm was right – 

he seen the hypocrisy of Elijah fathering kids with secretaries

He seen the hatred of Jews lead to black handshakes with White Nazis

He knew King was soft, warm and fuzzy and harmless and impotent

Until he (and ironically - Malcolm)

Fulfilled the shit that Biggie said:

You don’t come to mind until somebody blows off your head

The only thing that remains is Knowledge and God

Long after …

We blow the dust off of Public Enemy tapes and faded Africa medallions nestled in the closet with our Kente cloth scarves

That we only take down at Kwanza

Fuck Kwanza

Why did we fall for this fake ass “de-whiting” of Christmas?

Do we really celebrate muhindi when corn aint even from Africa?

In Tanzania Ujima is not celebrated, it’s malinged

Defined by the enslavement of Blacks on socialist farms

And how do we forget the real Ron Karenga, the santa claus of Kwanza celebration?

Do Deborah Jones and Gail Davis pour out libations

To commemorate their torture under his direction?

Long after our expanded history gets lost

And compacted into the shortest month of the year

Long after our memory of Tupac finally accepts

That brotha is dead

Killed by our unfounded expectations

So, Brenda:

Remember to keep your head up

And we'll forget why they call you bitch

Long after the bullshit of dichotomy,

That has become our anatomy

Is washed away by rejecting the affliction

Of reversed reverse psychology -

Where we won’t need to confront the mental rape of oppression

Via slick headed ministers and their fake Tawanas

Where we see Willie Lynch’s letter for what it is:

Bullshit forged by a Negro to try prove a moot point.

Then we can trade in our rims and Jordan collections for

Stocks and bonds and corporate board seats

Buy gold and sell gold buys instead of lynching it around our necks;

Invest in the legacy of Africa instead

Of colored diamonds, hued by the blood of ebony miners

For wars against others with the same skin color

Where we understand finally the folly of pursuing

Consciousness and wisdom in the smoky haze of cannabis

Just cuz it’s from the earth

Negro, that’s the same place we put coffins

Freedom will be born when contradiction dies

The death of fake pride

etched in fully in pages like Alex Haley’s Roots

Was full of self-admitted lies

The only thing that remains is Knowledge and God

Go ask Mansa Musa…Mali king who built Timbuktu

Whose wealth invited the envy of Europe

that in turn led to generations taking on the name of their master

There aint nothing left of his empire

No gold;

No palace;

No crown;

But in Timbuktu

There remains (only) 2 things he built:

A mosque…

And a school…

The only thing left is knowledge and God

The only thing greater than yourself -

Is Truth

And we have run so far from it-

It is now the only place we have left to go

For Jose Medina...

(Jose Medina was killed in a hit and run accident that I was at the scene of. He was working his first day as a valet at a club I was security for. I held his hand as he lay in the street waiting for medical arrival. He passed and at the funeral, his Mom, in her grief asked me why I didn't protect her baby. This is a bit of penance...

There is now a law in CO establishing a program for people to track and report hit and run offenders - called the Medina Law)

Death is a test

A test we all pass...

Death is a test-

We all must surely pass