I hold these truths to be self evident
that this country is full of shit. It sucks the marrow out of our bones. It makes a thick succulent gravy out of us, calls it Negro fusion cuisine. Don’t confuse a beautifully set table and a well worded invite with a welcome. We are the meal. We are the dessert. We are what America chews on with her back teeth until we become dust. Hide a fork in your starched white napkin. When America turns her head
all the way around like a haunted barn owl. Stab her in the jugular and remind her she is an Eagle. Tell her in her left ear, you are a vulture, A Black crow, A hoodoo descendant, A night woman, A banshee, A blood hound. Tell America you are a woman who has fantasized how to kill her in the most inventive ways. Tell America your song will be the last song she ever hears. It is be sung in the shrill key of a C-note, a hot fevered pitched southern drawl from the throat of a daughter that she forgot she gave birth to.
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