September Poem 61: In the Heart of the City

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.

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