nappy edges (a cross country sojourn)

st. louis/ such a colored town/ a whiskey black space of history & neighborhood/ forever ours/ to lawrenceville/ where the only road open to me/ waz cleared by colonial slaves/ whose children never moved/ never seems like/ mended the torments of the Depression the stains of demented spittle/ dropped from lips of crystal women/ still makin independence flags/ from st. louis/ on a halloween’s eve to the veiled prophet/ usurpin the mystery of mardi gras/ made it mine tho the queen waz always fair/ that parade/ of pagan floats & tambourines/ commemoratin me/ unlike the lonely walks wit liberal trick or treaters/ back to my front door/ bag half empty/ my face enuf to scare anyone i passed/ a colored kid/ whatta gas 1) here a tree wonderin the horizon dipped in blues & untended bones usedta hugs drawls rhythm & decency here a tree waitin to be hanged sumner high school/ squat & pale on the corner/ like our vision/ waz to be vague/ our memory of the war/ that made us free to be forgotten becomin paler/ a linear movement from south carolina to missouri/ freedman/ landin in jackie wilson’s yelp/ daughters of the manumitted swimmin in tina turner’s grinds/ this is chuck berry’s town/ disavowin misega-nation/ in any situation/ & they let us be/ electric blues & bo diddley’s cant/ rockin pneumonia & boogie-woogie flu/ the slop & short-fried heads/ running always to the river / from chambersbourg/ lil italy/ i passed everyday at the sweet shoppe/ & waz afraid/ the cops raided truants/ regularly/ after dark i wd not be seen/ wit any other colored/ sane/ lovin my life/ in the 'bourg/ seriously expectin to be gnarled/ hey niggah/ over here/ & behind the truck lay five hands claspin chains/ round the trees/ 4 more sucklin steel/ hey niggah/ over here/ this is the borderline/ a territorial dispute/ hey/ niggah/ over here/ cars loaded wit families/ fellas from the factory/ one or two practical nurses/ black/ become our trenches/ some dig into cement wit elbows/ under engines/ do not be seen/ in yr hometown/ after sunset we suck up our shadows/ 2) i will sit here my shoulders brace an enormous oak dreams waddle in my lap round to miz bertha’s where lil richard gets his process runs backwards to the rosebushes/ a drunk man/ lyin down the block to the nuns in pink habits prayin in a pink chapel my dreams run to meet aunt marie my dreams draw blood from ol sores these stains & scars are mine this is my space i am not movin