Freud is big-bellied pregnant

I speak for two. We’re beyond the insect brain
since it crawled off and left us the half
or whole of what the other folks have.
I’ll be damned if I thought that could happen.
Harlem couldn’t mock us. Poor Lethe could’t
mock us drifting where the other damned drift.
How we count the cells counting open sores.
Lord what prays for the world going round
helping us along, what prays for any thinkers this
pegged and begging otherwise. Lord, I’ll be him,
I’ll be the Lord’s face in black paint smirking
at the other niggers that only wore themselves,
never sang a swan song at twenty hoping for flocks
of boys to come high and saunter off sober, stumbling.

“never sang a swan song at twenty hoping for flocks
of boys to come high and saunter off sober, stumble off.”

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~ by Jeremy on June 16, 2012.

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