The Black Mama Collective. Brush in hand,
Laid black ink on the water’s surface to
Come up with the perfect words. Each subtle
Vibration shifting the image in a
Rorschach mask of meaning bleeding sumi
To shades of pink and purple. Because it
Bothers the demon amid the carnage
To watch it glint and slide and spin across
The surface. To bring out the smell. The tar
Of resurfaced streets and artificial
Sweeteners. The oil spill awaiting a
Sheet of paper to print in defense of
The word that rhymed all too well with titty
Black dripping in the heart of the city.
therichardbraxton 