Race Movies (Poem Born From a Friday Night's Debris)



Sometimes we all neeed to dance (insert your own euphemism)... just to forget. lmr

I have danced...
Danced until dawn.
Hurled my cares like cheap beer
Cans to risque alleys and parts beyond 
Where neon streets cease to paint anyone
Electric blue or shocking pink or vaguely pretty anymore. 

I’ve paid my dues to 
the urban gods and the woozy
laws of Friday nights. Played hard and
fast under twitching club light with itching flames of 
fire.  I have kicked back wild tequila shots and danced
myself, danced myself, danced my self hot, electric and
necessary on a frenzied floor of maniacal dancers, dancing to forget.
And now, 
yes. . .  once 
again, as if by ritual, I come… 
this meditative  peon, mumbling,  
not Michelangelo, but odes to "Langston," 
stumbling, staggering  into this Light of Harlem and 
you. I come seeking a cure, your strangely haunting brew.
come,   as I am   want  to do,  seeking  a  savior,  seeking
shelter; seeking  warm arms  and refuge   from    this cruel, 
cruel real world which takes aim and shoots, shoots its deadly, 
deadly bullets, bullets of assumption, its phantom eyes shooting, 
shooting race movies  upon the shiny  black  screen  of    my    skin. 
Here... when I am lost
and vulnerable and on the verge of 
Weeping... you s
how me there’s someone, 
somewhere Inside and outside of this Insanity 
Who still gives a shit about what happens to me! 

Come, please! Dialogue with me! 
Engage me  in  soft talk and romantic 
soliloquy… drown me in a flood of butterfly
wet kisses, and cradle me inside of your heartbeats!
Come, cover me in 
soft sheets of rose petals 
and whispers of your best 
lyrical poetry! Entrap me inside
a net, I fall so willingly into... full of
acceptance and movement and
this sweet liquid gush of carnalties!
You see, once again
This world    has       left      me
distressed as the jeans no one wears
any more, and ejected from the concrete floor of 
this  makeshit Eden. Please, just for me, could you
roll    call    all    the   beauteous    things  you  see?  Blow
passionate   solos   upon   this   lonely    instrument that is me! 
Let us revel in 
its healing effect… 
Dance lively  to its  primal  pulse-beat…
Catch this rhythym of its succulent symmetry…
and  then... and then.. and then... let us unleash its 
Perfect                                                           SCREAM!
Yes! Yes!
Leave me shining and
radiant inside some needed
pool  of  heat  and  sweat  and  DNA
which completes, redefines and reminds me
I'm ALIVE!  Yes!  Lay upon me  some vague
trickery, just a touch of  voodoo,  hoodoo  witchcraft
sorcery... some  fools  and  Romantics  still  believe  to  be

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