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hue and cry
yet again: bareheaded, black hoodied, braided, brimmed…
there’s this unwarranted clamor of alarm on him —
he who lives each day (because he must) woker and woker…
black onyx against the ambered ochre;
pate full of hair-shoots pullulating like black curly ting ting…
well — this is the crown of a king…yes, he is a king!king!
be he bodacious or meek in the toing and froing of his migrations…
chomping through warped cities and charred nations:
places which find entry into his genius-ducts and become chokers…
pulling the king from the card deck of nematodes and jokers…
slapping him down on the table for their claiming and win…
gambling him away…to his and his peoples’ chagrin;
it’s chilling: certain sectors so copacetic…with wringing the life out of his life
…with placing the 24/7-index on the 24/7-trigger pointing in the direction of his life
…with bubbling up the redblues and sounding off toxic tocsins just to trifle:
these are the hazards occupying this king’s skull-space every cardiac cycle —
