MADE FOR YOU AND ME 2: hive Being (Stanzas 2017—part 11)
Let's workshop this stanza sequence about black supremacy, psychoanalysis, science, paranormal hunters, cult leaders, prison, true black power, Rikers Island, psychic travel, Publisher’s Clearinghouse
forgiving himself for the people he hurt made him less like to hurt people physical bars honed psychic travel yet another artist channeling electricity into the very grid that needed to be zapped fear of losing your child in the time travels of psychoanalysis best believe he took his money back from the corpse’s warm pocket open but skeptical—the thin line the scientist walks “What up my White King?” he who actually believes in the bible code prophesies, or that ghosts reach out in English through AM stations, is somehow, at least it seems at times, sadder than he who just sells the mumbo jumbo to relieve the gullible of their money immigrants duped by that millionaire-winner letter from Publisher’s Clearinghouse loath to shelve disbelief, the target of seduction—like outsider eyes who must see how the magic trick is done and who must remind us again and again that WWE matches are really just soap operas, choreographed—could never let any seduction take root the most diabolical fragility is manifest in those who write off any questioning of their view (even if just a matter of caring curiosity) as an expression of fragility, the disposition to flee from pushback exposure therapy for emetophobia awakening bulimia a cult usually only grows once those close to the would-be leader say, “Others need to hear your words” that no one went after her with a law suit despite her vicious assault on big pharma suggested it was perhaps not quackery after all in the damming of his compulsion, the dark river— as if by some law of energy conservation—sprang through defiant outlets (luckily less prison-worthy) LaGuardia jetliners, off to glittering emancipations, right outside the Rikers window the refrain playing within still retains, after decades, the needle hiccup in the vinyl the path to true black power avoided merely because many white people light it up death sheets over mirrors after death, because death spells the death of vanity telling kids how climate change will affect their lives even more— having arrived at the party, so at least goes the inspiring message they awaken to, when the ashtrays are full and puke is everywhere when he said at the bus stop “I’m a horse (a mare)” and his (her?) “friends” giggled, he said “You’re fragile, fleeing from my challenge to your world” and they said, this being a uniform school, “Calling us ‘fragile,’ though, is you fleeing from our challenge”
This is a portion of an ongoing mosaic poem called Made for You and Me. This portion is from the first installment: hive Being (Stanzas 2016-2020). More specifically, it is from the 2017 portion of that five-part work.
No doubt, my White King