Monday, August 01, 2016

backstreet lecture

i couldn't discharge my eyes off him with ease
young boy breathing his pain 
into the world of his unfurling palms 
craving for coins on this corner 
ajar for the moving or well dead
soft yarn soaked in suicidal throes of addiction
bedrock blasting
a continent of pumped voices unshut with toxins
his smile met the flat mountaintops
his belly the desiring valleys
transplant from the alleys groped with marijuana dust
and a candid feel as if joseph stiglitz echoed his idea about saving the world here
he read me the arcane trade laws negotiating paroxysm
from a mind with stains of scant community 
power over issues with issues over power
and a special kind of madness
he said the times broke out of arid silence with the license to clog the conscience
i'm the nobel prize holder for bootlegged comfort 
legging it in other people's boots 
i'm cocaine capitalism
christian parenti's documents typed out on doormats of chaos 
a typewriter in subtle exile
or keypad in heat stress
and the orgasm of small farms with finger fishes fried forgotten things for dishes
i'm the reason mcdonalds will sue you next for using a mc
adam's apple never fell far from the tree where eves saw i
and this little profound ghost of a boy
before i retire would probably end up under the tires 
of secret society masked vigilantes
or worn over the attires in west africa and labeled vlisco
traded platinum like cisqo from dutch kinfolk
overtimed in indonesia like juveniles with bronx endo 
while labeled 'tribal' or something close to 'traditional'
tomorrow i'll still find him hangover with ancient music tucked away
vomiting a dream 
and sleeping in it

(c) kwame write aidoo [written and read on the night of saturday july 30th, 2016 at 32 rue de la mare at an event hosted by will cox]

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