Bojangles(A Forlorn Caricature)

Somewhere deep in the margins....

deep in the margins....

It strikes me as peculiar,

the way the blacks,

as if genetically predisposed,

gravitate toward the back

of the bus.

and how on that very same bus,

i sit beside a poor black schizophrenic bum

reading the newspaper upside down aloud

and i can hear his stomach's desperate growls

and across from me

pampered white girls discuss

their menial superficialities.

And the way my parents blindly appraise

Yaweh the Anglo Saxon

In one of those fine historically

black churches

where at the epicenter of the altar

they pay reverence to the

twenty foot tall image

of the blessed good white

hegemonical lord Jesus Christ.

(The grand irony of it all being

that their church is in

Pittsburgh's Hill district;

"Hill" the operative pseudonym

for n****r)

And how academia 

has me Claude Neal'd

hung and asphyxiated

on a noose of Euro centrism

mended with narcissist fibers.

a curriculum of self-hatred

Forlorn feet of cold 

black-red leather dangling.

An epidermis likened to

emaciated silk

Emasculated of my Africana

an amalgam of man's filth.

Somewhere deep in the margins....

deep in the margins...