Blame it on the Wooden Arks, blame it on those Boogeymen
Believe
y’all believe
What they think (truth)
to make us think (their truth) is truth
Lies, fabricated tales, stolen
as they were told revealed
“No more auction block for me, No more, no more”
First thee three, those three wooden arks, anti-sanctified sails
filled with pillaged-grimms took first class middle passage
crossed the Atlantic sea.
Wooden arks filled with ‘crimes-to-be-announced’
start with the Pequot, it was massacre, masked in thanks
Boogeymen in the shade of light crashed on that rock
busting up on folks stealing and stuff, you know
how thieves do . . .
Call it what you want, history no longer shackled to his-story tales
told sea to shining sea.
I’m no traitor, a realist though, the bones tell the tale
buried coast to coast long as river beds
Before they came life flowed,
AleutInuitChinookChumashApacheComancheCrowSioux
IroquoisMassachusetCreekPomoNezPerceShoshonePueblo
Into Disney flamboyance rewrites
Jiving Crows, Sunflower [Centaur’s pickaninny slave] Peter’s Indians
Uncle Remus, Aladdin, Princess and the Frog, Tonto, Pocahontas
Excuse while I bust out in song
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
Wooden arks gang planks, freed thieves, lynchmen dare I say
terrorists yes thank you foundling fathers
Old Ben lifted too, (what you get for teaching them your language),
chunks of words from Iroquois Great Law of Peace
hid them in the constituted U.S. Da truth.
Thievery
how else to explain this mess, pledged to us [right hand over chest]
doo-dah, dee-ay [fades to Black]
Nina S. Singing Loud Privately
You see they have a school up here
high landscaped, hidden on a million
dollar-estate view hill of shushed interior
urban sandcrete bound in tempered stone.
Up this hill high stacked you see
bricks, mortared skeletons of the alpha
pressed integrated in squared rooms.
Up-rooted scholarships damned in halls
lingers clinks against hulls of cement
hedges, students in couplets walk it- tip
shuffle it- tap, hurricane chimes of chains
caged behind backs, twisted wrists tight
padlocked columns of ten, bowed heads
zombified brains washed. #2 pencils tack
sharp, confiscated. Ordained lessons re-
play replica time turn back chained gangs.
Guns of stun guns, clubs of bullies, equip
teachers for target practice, easy prey, they.
You see they have a school high up
here on the hill. Cluster camps of ABC’s
urban streets, of prison recess to repressed
uneven playing- field incarcerate washed
up minds, preparation for real-time. Every
one clued about Mississippi goddman, slept
on this school on the hill tragic core of
urban academia. You don’t know, don’t you
know? Everybody knows about this school
high up on the hill goddam.