Let us enter this again. In the context of this paragraph,
we are hurtling backward through space, toward a small
opening: I press my hand to your lip and you bite. You bite
my spine. Ben his jawline was stellar. Ben his curlicue.
His cellphone iPhone. His and everyone’s iPhone, in my hand,
on my lap, at the mezzanine. The opera is going full speed.
The soprano arrives to tell Falstaff, to tell him. I fall
from a great height onto a woman’s head. It splits and I
become the split, standing later for a portrait. The hero
of the town walks alone at night, carrying in his eye a single
feather. He wears this feather in his eye as a kind of penance.
For his bravery many men will die for many years to come
Ode to the Happy Negro Hugging the Flag in Robert Colescott’s “George Washington Carver Crossing the Delaware”
I have waited all my life to find me find you perched around my black neck in repose songing of me in repose your black legs songing of me in repose your black legs a dangle around me I have waited to find you find your black toes to find them sundering at the base your black toes your black toe- nails hale and bright your black feet a straddle around me around my black waist a straddle I finding I was born I was born who operated in the white was born who was born who operated in the white chapel who found your black thighs in repose songing to each other in repose across my chest an extended black for blocks a neighborhood song in repose your crotch an extended black at my neck your black groin a straddle around me in repose what life what there it is there I had been looked at there o lord sucked His black thorax which spanned as a fracture spanned as I who grow up in you there as a fracture find your black breast o lord quiescing atop my head your other black breast o lord hale and bright around me o lord a pendulum o lord to my black ear my black ear that finds you songing of me in repose in your stature toppling to one side of my one side find your black shoulders a gaping around me death your body armless around me death none can skirt it in your mother's way o lord is finding black fingers there your black neck is finding lord is rising past the cumulus-line an extended black o lord is an extended black o lord is thinking of self and thinking of self is finding you there so that when I entered I entered the pulpit I entered.