“The new music” is an epic: it always is. Mozart’s becoming was an epic, and so is Solanges’s & Beyonce’s (etc…) I have been writing this epic for some time now, trying to pin down the becoming of “the new music.”
“Southern flowers,
they’re all southern flowers;
color.
they melt into
news of
cynical children
breaking pencils
a crisis …
again visiting
that mythologized storefront
those gang walks & signs
whether it be
summer or the cold …”
I walk a city in its entirety
see walls and all
I walk a city in its entirety
to say my goodbyes
& 1 hello to me
especially to my
commitment to
that
heavy
essence
“Southern flowers,
they’re all southern flowers;
color.
they melt into
news of
cynical children
breaking pencils
a crisis ..
again visiting
that mythologized storefront
those gang walks & signs
whether it be
summer or the cold …”
it’s a song I once sung
along to,
it’s a song I once sung
along to
as if to culture sun
into an avalanche
of
dust
to stop the flood /
to scream that
“all is lost!
man
ha ha”
u know,
a great migration
filled in rooms
with children
who could clap their hands
sing old songs
will again
if only we’d …
goodbye …
good bye …
in egg yellow lips
a green dress,
white butterfly to her left
counting aloud
in pen,
her hair both
brushed and let go.
bruised.
then
we’ll
dance.
an ideal
in 2 heels
in gold colored earrings,
in a gold colored necklace,
in 3 gold colored bracelets
my hair in a tight bun.
goodbye …
count of
when I was in the nude
while he was too
goodbye …
promise that I shall wear
red nails
as I walk
I peel off its frame
I peel of its glass
I tear it into two
shred it into a 0
with what I’m truly
goodbye …
misery
I walk the city
the entire thing
where I learned to wait
on no one
to say my goodbyes
& hello to me
I once lived a city
this one
to a
stupid tune,
I met as a child.
u know,
bubblegum.
it suggest’d that I prove stuff …
the size of my hips
if I’ve used my lips
like that
he won’t love the
your tongue,
not you, miss (mrs?)
the room I sleep in is me
I walk a city in its entirety
once upon a time
in flames
ah!
continue to walk
“Southern flowers,
they’re all southern flowers;
color.
they melt into
news of
cynical children
breaking pencils
a crisis ..
again visiting
that mythologized storefront
those gang walks & signs
whether it be
summer or the cold …”
“Southern flowers,
they’re all southern flowers;
color.
they melt into
news of
cynical children
breaking pencils
a crisis …
again visiting
that mythologized storefront
those gang walks & signs
whether it be
summer or the cold …”
goodbye…
goodbye …
tired of childhood.
