I always tell my dancers. You are not defined by your fingertips, or the top of your head, or the bottom of your feet. You are defined by you. You are the expanse. You are the infinity. —Judith Jameson Elizabeth Alexander in The Black Interior writes about beauty, and how black artists resist monstrousness by their own self-definitions. I’m interested in this repair, too, but find comfort in the ugly. I love monsters. We both consider Brooks. In the poem, “The Life of Lincoln West,” when Elizabeth hones in on two white men describing little, black Lincoln, specie, I zip to the poem’s end, to what I read as Lincoln’s release: “it comforts him to be the real thing.” I align after June Jordan, whom am I when pinched, patted, and bent? Get behind her defense of Black English in On Call: How can I be who I am? We do with what’s given. I suppose, I may not share viewpoints, but still, I connect. Of prose, Meena Alexander says she uses it to clear the underbrush to make space for the poem. Vacate fields, ropes, a body. Don’t hate on Elizabeth. Do you. Frame how she pairs Brooks with Lawrence and Bearden. To argue, she opens walls, and living rooms. So, you like death? Is your project Fanon’s? Is this all a setup? Fan – on – it was a jolt in perception, then. Pieces of this, repeat. Toni Morrison, where she writes: the remains of what were left behind to reconstruct the world these remains imply. Ties to Brooks’s litany of the black body that endures, a stream of violent verbs to enter, under buzz and rows of halogen: burned, bricked, roped to trees, and bound. Now, what contexts shift in the stacks that glare before you? And how do you return, after, to what seized Brooks at Fisk, standing to face all those Blacks?
UPON Grief and Grievance: Art and Mourning in America, New Museum, New York, 2021. / DOUBLE SONNET after A.J., C.S.D., C.G., J.B., D.R., P.C., M.B., K.G., K.W., M.E., K.B., E.G., M.D. & R.S.
for Okwui Enwezor
Firehose blast pummels. Torqued silhouettes.
Teach me how to Dougie…We don’t succumb.
Everything that stood in their way…ruthless
destruction…for which tool brazen Diamond
hammers back against murder. Article:
Philando’s fiancé booked. Our assault
maps. Bradford’s built paper, string tactical
veins pulse in black crumples. Forearms—Baller
K.G. (Celtics) seizes, spits. Gouache, white ink,
magenta mouth-stung light. Walker: We tried…
Not venom, neurotoxins. Vomit pink—
Is it? Our exhaustion translates: We tried…
Bubble hoodie. Helmet-to-weave, No Rem,
M.E., welded steel: Lynch Fragments for them.
Art mines, solders, bleeds. Angles as expect
orate to its hyphae. Roots—in Hyper
cardioid and contact—mics—Dew, Pigment.
Beasley and Gallagher sinew lines, curve
sensorium as polyurethane
query: optic vertebrate, lexicon.
Translucent human-gut spores. Body planes
used in the hi order for…your drill…Drum
Bits…/ntial…ad…FREE WORKSHOP will…i
of America…now…PUT YOUR HANDS UP
AGAINST THE WALL! The building is on Fiiyy
yAAHH…got my 3 kids, and we bounced…Smoke rup
tures Alien’s proboscis…They don’ know…
They don’ know…Pixels—blues, violet shadows.