movin’ in…movin’ outta babylon
it is second spring..
this is a memorial
to a girl
who knew what side her
bread was buttered..
the maiden as
father son
holy ghost
fallen,
sings
this song
a child shall lead..
conversations
dream
bite
in crisis..
when dem saints
come marching in
a bridge through
my window
for each of you
love ..maybe
conclusions
eulogized.
(fade to black)
ll
awake
sleep in my eyes
my own dream
is of there
back there
where i was
where i belonged
before i was set
on a plane
with my own head
of memory.
the day now erupts
with the thunder and lightning
my brother
now tells
me that he is glorified
janitor
invisible to their eyes
peering
from their own
restlessness
i laugh
uncomfortable
remembering
how we rubbed
our ideas together
as young dreaming boys
to keep us warm
in this hintered madness
to keep the spell
of frustration
castration
lingering in the corner
of the eye and soul
breaking our backs
and our own desperate
quickening.
the sun belts down hard
and i feel the
whole weight
of his purpose.
i am stilled
remembering
carrying
heavy bananas
“bwoy dem
work uno
hard pickni
every tuesday
come rain or shine
inna evening time
no joking massa
jus you an you breda
as i grow up again
i say what of the children
generation
the rated equinox
the seventh sense
a change of season
for each of
you and us
we..
moving in
moving out
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