A mine in the gold-field

Of boys who stole smooth skin and full arteries,
witless stooges them, I declare a story:
the doom of the twentieth century
was the twentieth century’s becoming:
half-trained in the mire of libraries
referencing libraries burned at the equator:
the bodies of the wealthy delighted
ever in the distance from their mothers:
types and riggings the better brag on
as they spar with their plushes:
but all the black boys stole nothing
that James Baldwin didn’t give anon,
for the faded currency of satire
bears a gore its letters won’t wash off.

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~ by Jeremy on May 28, 2013.

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