Dawn New Orleans slow crow
Thursday night lullaby into Friday morning
Baptiste baptism cracked side walk
Federalist papers on iPod earbuds
Stick inspect backpack, brush past Gospel tent
Blues tent Mr. Sipp Mississippi Blues Child
Rouse guitar into slow-drink Sam Cooke
A Change is Gonna Come to majority over fifty white stay-seated
audience
Finale breaks Hendrix blues Star Spangled
See crowd rise hand over hearts to imagined flag
Standing ovation rabble chords
Me seated reading Vandana Shiva Soil Not Oil
Energy is Shakti the primordial power of creation
The self-organizing, the self-generative
Self-renewing created force of the universe in feminism
Leon Bridges soul sex and Otis Redding
Torpid rise take me to your river
White boy cell phone purple VIP Acura chest-sticker
Black hundred-dollar t-shirt says “Envy” with white etched roses
Cat’s Meow Karaoke passes sky-banner
Two seagulls hover, one shits, drop falls
Baseball cap says ‘Merica on a Trump-ling
Our nation’s flag has now become a social conservative identifier
The micro-allegiances, cigarette,
Three fuck-boys to the left all staring in cell phones
Leon on stage singing ‘Brown Skinned Girl’
Me remembering making out with a lovely Jewish woman
Outside Tipitina’s with his saxophone in the air
Tattooed Chinese character ankle British freckle sways with a
Coors
“Oh she’s wasted,” trips over bags yells garble-talk back at a
black woman
Imperialist alcohol manifest destiny bladder rush
The ennui of heat, Leon Bridges groove
No one can stare straight at sex
A crowd staring a crowd
Calculating drunk, high, and horny, afraid of intimacy
Sexual frustration evaporating into the sky
Flesh burst, the loneliness floods bodies
In Miller Light and Shell gasoline
The New Orleans Holy Sepulchre Gentilly Stage
Poetry of Facebook-Live or it didn’t happen
A friend said, “New Orleans is a city very approximate to
death.”
Hawaiian shirt Chicago insurance salesman
Aubrey Plaza look-alike
That’s Texas right there in guitar
Measuring Jazz Fest veterans by lack of cosmetics
Touch up mirror rookie cakes foundation cover up
Sunscreen drip beautiful confetti of madness
Nas with Soul Rebels Congo Square
New Orleans LA and Queens NY
With mis heromano poeta
Hip hop and brass band
Nas shirt: HSTRY don’t believe the hype
Son of the blues powwow
Obama blue and red Hope flag in the rear of the crowd
Feels like Revolution
Palestinian colors on the pole red, black, white and green
without the star
Beethoven’s fifth and Lenna Horne
Pigeon step seventh ward borough of Queens
Primal hip hop libido drum
White boy in a Pelle Pelle shirt Notorious
Marijuana in mouth, raises a street-vendor-bought
Knock off Mumbai pastel umbrella selling white privilege
Weed to bystanders full frontal
Sanctimonious feral addict in a music parking lot
Second line pomp bud in teeth flaunt
Slicked shave hair flop orange tan
Finale and walk, to double dollar tip jars
Of young one’s brass in street for the New Orleans side hustle
Corner of Esplanade and Carrollton statue of
P.T.G. Beauregard on public land
One white man from Florida and one white woman
Full beard stern head, four flags in his hand bulldog at feet
Staked eight flags in earth variants of Confederacy sedition
She had confederate, a yellow Don’t Tread on Me
And in the palm a tiny Israeli flag
I spot pointing to my fellow poet
Eagle eye
Two black cops in the background
Cars passing, crowd unleashing
I stand middle finger up straight at white supremacists
Dos poetas walk around circle
Ask cops is this public property
Can anyone stand there?
Proceed, Engage
Mr. Graybeard says he goes around the South
Poet words explain state of Israel is funded by
America to bomb Palestinian people into a box
Genocide
Stars and Bars sedition
Genocide of black Americans
African genocide
Economic engine of free labor for not free people
She says, “11,000 Jews fought for the Confederacy
Blacks fought for the Confederacy, Shalom”
I mention, “Slave revolts led to unstable continuation on two
fronts
To that side that lost; you lost
This is my home; go back to yours; this city’s elected
representatives
I pay taxes to have chosen.
Your ignorance is higher than that man on that horse
You are on the wrong side of history
With death.”
She touches my hand and calls me honey
I say, “Don’t fucking touch my hand.”
She says, “Don’t use that kind of language.”
I say, “Why are you more offended by the word fuck
implying sex miscegenation,
rather than the word genocide and the death you are promoting?
You are waving a flag with the rights
a country that does not agree with you gives you?”
And I think of the music
My father of saying, “Do not speak, just let it be.”
Of kissing lips and one love, of ‘Merica
Of Trumpland, of the goddamn war for capital T truth
Of hearts in the fire this time
Of it does not matter, I don’t want to know
Sometimes the truth is just a plain picture
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