In nineteen seventy-two it was like a curse had been spoken: Harlem, I put a spell on you.
It was an everyday reality. The streets bowed down to the power called heroin. One million dollars a day on one hundred and sixteenth street—thousands of lives held in captivity—thousands of demons set free. Dope fiends haunted doorways and stairwells, spooking everyone but the rats and roaches. Children played in the same alleys that hid pimping, pushing, and using. Heroin was King Kong on the community’s back. Someone had to do something.
“Freeze, you monkey ass fools!” Like justice herself, two Bauer .25 automatics aimed at her hemmed up prey, Arabica Jones broke down the bust. “Don’t make me chirp these Crickets. It won’t turn out too good for you boys!”
Her tight leather jumpsuit melted over her body like shiny black, liquid sugar. She spoke downward into her cleavage, “Wacko-jacko, wacko-jacko—Come get these fools!”
She shook her Afro in disgust. “You boys ain’t too swift—how you gonna let me roll up on you like this? You, Sweet Daddy Davis—don’t look away from me! Yes, you, fool. You goin’ up for a long ride!”
In the low-hanging, pale warehouse light; light that seemed almost afraid to touch anything, Detective Jones was on fire. Crates of pure heroin, stacked ten high surrounded her. There was product out on the table in between Davis, his four lieutenants and their suppliers; two of Davis’ men were white around their noses like Georgia mules. Davis coolly looked to the man on his left. As the man began to reach for the pistol on the table, the side door crashed open and the Vice squad swarmed in like army ants.
“Jones,” Chief O’Malley barked her name like a curse. Fat and sticky with sweat, he tore into the petite detective. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’!”
“Easy, man. I couldn’t wait any more. Hassle me later. Let’s just get this trash off the streets right now, okay?”
Her smooth smile was like cool water on O’Malley’s hot splotchy face. He was still pissed, but she did just close an eighteen month investigation; an investigation that before her involvement, was a cold one.
O’Malley: “How do you do all this in thigh boots with six inch heels on ‘em?”
Jones: With her hip cocked to one side, “Because I’m good.”
“Lis’en….” O’Malley spoke with less hostility. But Ms. Jones cut him off.
“Whatever! Damn. Can’t it wait until in the morning!” Arabica turned to strut away.
“Jones,” O’Malley growled, his greasy neck bulging over his sweat stained shirt collar.
“Yeah, I know. You’re gonna chew my ass off.” Walking away shaking her head on purpose, and her hips because, well, that’s just the way it was, “In the morning, man!”
O’Malley snorted, then bellowed, “I’ll be sure to skip breakfast!”
Diverting his attention to his men, he whipped up that big circle in the air over his head with his stubby, hairy index finger and hollered, “Wrap it up!”
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In a nation where the promise of equality and the reality of injustice have
traipsed along hand in hand since the beginning, is it any wonder that now,
more and more people, many still confused and unsure of what’s going on, have
nonetheless awaked, to the smell of smoke as our Babylon burns?
Political leaders, no matter from the right or the left, have taken
their respective stands, many of them spewing the lies of family values and
ethics, freedom and civil liberties, even Christian mores—knowing full well
that they lie like the dogs they are. Conservatives say that they are on the
side of (for a lack of better words) God fearing Americans. Is that right?
Maybe we should have a cup of tea and think about that. Michelle Bachmann says
that the recent earthquake and hurricane to accost Washington DC was a wake up
call from God for Congress. Really? Are you going to slander my God, the God
and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ like that in the media? Of course you are.
It feeds the spirit of fear that you Michelle Bachmann and all other fear
mongers worship.
If you haven’t noticed Ms. Bachmann, a little over two thousand years
ago, Jesus called the Christ showed up. He preached and taught, was persecuted
and crucified. He died, was buried and then was raised from the dead. Sorry for
the theology lesson, but it was necessary to explain the fact that we are not
living in Old Testament times! Remember in the Book when the angels appeared to
the shepherds at night singing, “Peace on earth and good will toward men”? God
Almighty is not in the judgment and calamity business anymore. Jesus satisfied
the righteous and just punishments that were meted out before he came because
of the sins of men.
So, stop misrepresenting our Heavenly Parent! If you don’t know what
you’re talking about Ms. Bachmann, Mr. Robinson and all you other misguided
pundits, then shut up! I’m not just jumping on the separation of church and
state bandwagon, but politicians, stop trying to use the Bible to justify your
crooked agendas. Remember, your forefathers even tried this tactic with slavery
and Jim Crow.
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Soft like
filigree feathers
your voice
licks me and I
get all mighty inside
sugar coated and sticky sweet
your voice
there’s nowhere to run
no place to hide
when you whisper
I have little choice
smokey soft
it trips me
to places I’ve yet
to dream
when I awake
the dreams
are remembered
as reality seems
sugar coated and sticky sweet
your voice
what I’d wish
if wishes
came true
is to spend some
of every day
and some of every night
listening to you
because
your voice is
sugar coated and sticky sweet.
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On a gently flowing breeze that rolled home slowly to me—a bouquet of flowers in her hair.
“Woman…” breathlessly spoken through luscious and soft lips, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Daisy?” was the question that she answered with. Capricious as a child, she blew me a smile.
Delighted, I kissed it and said, “Look what I gave you, a kiss from my lips to place it in your lap.
My blood pump thumped, then—Tap to booming, booming to boombap.
“Open up, I’m here. It’s me you heard rap, softly against your astral plane. I’m cold, standing here naked in this ice pick rain.”
Against the window hidden beneath the shadow of me I saw her staring, face pressed to the cerebral glass.
“Why won’t you let me in?” Question marked my face. “Is it because you’re afraid… us in love?”
She smiled with her taunt. “Who cares what you say. What I have, is what you want.”
“There’s been too much delay. Let me in, I say.”
Our dialog worked like my desire’s own soliloquy. My eyes burned intently from the outside looking in.
Her eyes beamed and danced from the inside.
From outside I flashed a pout.
Inside opened and she purred, “Good dog. Let’s bury that bone!”
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My shine is sucked from me into the holes
of your eyes your silence is a list of reasons
a wet carpet that can’t fly
but I can without deference
I spread the pinions of my opinion
and swat down opposition’s debate
swept up on my own hot air thermals I do pirouettes
with sunbeams and waltz with milky moon stone
through lofty thoughts in and out in and out of thin air
You are the devil in a black velvet dress
Inside you burns a soul darker than coal
an osprey with thunderbird ambition
an eagle with an Icarus wingspan
Never look into the sun
but how can a peacock bypass his own reflection
the frost calls to me the boxer of shadows a deliberate
dancer who courts immortality knowing that
bricks, boards and heavy bags don’t punch back
hypnotized by double mirror vision I ride a comet chard
and punch through the astral loopty-loop to dictate
the indecipherable chisels of dynamite
strapped to my thighs I sculpt a frieze infested
with contagious verbiage set on infecting the field
You are the devil in a black velvet dress
Inside you burns a soul darker than coal
from the mind field I calibrate my personal time
space continuum rooted but reaching a lexicon
climbs the boughs and branches of my psychic canopy
cockatoos and toucans swoop low through a rainforest
of lucid consciousness into the nether domain of the rime
scaled juggernaught out from the top of my brain cell ceiling
I’m resurrected with cursive dreams set in concrete
spouting dialog from antediluvian lore
your sickening silence swings like a scythe
slicing through me the way you smile is cyanide
in your eyes I see phantasms and truth
darker than coal
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