J. Kameron Carter performs a commentary in verse on Michael Brown and Ferguson
fergu(losta)son:
mourning michael brown
broked up words,
broked down flesh,
i’m broke,
holl’in, hear me,
screamin’, don’t fear me
gunned down in the daylight
mike’s broked up body
flayed flesh
mama moan’in’
pain groan’nin
dereliction of duty in the flesh
spilt blood spillers got it right
why hast thou forsaken me
whatchatalkinbout
breakup the brokenword made flesh
i’m broke cuz the words be broke-
n cash strapped down for cash
downtown Ferguson
inna city blues
fergu(losta)son to de
(God/damit) Man
※
shattered speech
wuds of the dispossessed
improper flesh
crowds house partyin’
under duress
its’a hot mess
shit be fucked up
democracy magnetizing bullets
i hear you frank,
cryin in a wildersonian wilderness
in de wild wild midwestside blues
its’a hot mess
fergu(losta)son
freedom ringin’ in my ear
bullets singin’ past my ear
wounded eye
shot in de eye
teargas in my eye
from sea to shinin’ sea-
son of distress and duress on the sea-
saw seasick in a sea-
son of pain, son of God
holdin’ onto hope against hope
the molten man said black ops
don’t forget but git wit the black fantastic
flight in midnight’s twilight
i mean a darkened daylight
duck the scope
teargas gun smoke
i smoked some reefa smoke
but so what, the gun smoke
jes got smoked
choked by the smoke
get out da scope
slip the yoke and tell a joke
dance in the crosshairs of the telescope
to the drummer’s beat
out of my constriction in
fergu(losta)son of dispossession
※
i’m speakin’ in tongues back at
new hope and faith
in murdered language
arrested (for) movement
in de middle of de street speakin’
Rinesha-ese on trial for her own murder
Trayvon-ese in on down the road, a scattin’ cat in a hoodie
Michael-ese in on down the line, hands up don’t shoot
catch my flow cuz’ hattie taught me to go
taught me bout speakin’ in tongues,
taught me bout tongue-talkin’
brokedup speech-walkin’
tarrying for the holyghost back at
new hope and faith, noonday prayer
told me i was dis/possessed
noonday demon x-periencing some stress
cuz’ x marks the spot in fergu(losta)son
been thinkin’ bout whatz going on
we all gotta be gaye cuz
fergu(losta)son
called it a demonic song
sound of a dis/possessed crowd
in the summer (and the wynter)
sylvia said sing that song on demonic grounds
a fragmented song of thewordbecamefleshunderattack
you ain’t feelin’ me
tuned out tune of deliverance
shout the victory
did you see dat dude crying
i mean, it hurts, i can’t breath
ruach ain’t flowing cuz she be flowin’
criminal grieving
criminalizing the grievers
grieving now criminalized
man-up don’t cry
that’s some bullshit be fucked up
the criminalization of grieving
when’d grieving ’come a crime?
good grief.
sarah told me (‘bout it)
so did hattie
so did my ’licia inner girl
you jes dont know
prolly dont know cuz it jes grew
told me to enact the otherwise than being
beyond being
cuz’ this can’t be
don’t let it be
you feelin’ me?
i mean, i love you
& wanna hold you
& cant loose you
fergu(losta)son
start the revolution
change is gona come
※
broked up words, no words
or do i mean wuds?
wuds in the woods
on the tarred flattop
i used to wear a flattop
check out my haircut
wuds face down on the ground
ain’t dat mike brown?
take ‘em to the bridge
no words from the Lord
no word from the Lord
don’t gimme that reconciliation bullshit
(MPs in Gaza) law of the Lord
or do I mean de Lawd?
yes Lawd, cut the law
with a wud from de Law/d
don’t git it twisted. i’m against sovereignty
livin’ in the cut of the law
insovereign grace. say my name.
taking down lord/ship in every township
tryin’ ta undo some shit 1960 what?
naw, summer 2014. taking down lord/ship
or do i mean lo Lo lo Lo Lord/shit?
‘cuz i got the holyghost
i’m dancing wit de Lawd
pickin’em’ up, puttin’em’ down
in my double monks cuz’ imma monk
double dipping against sovereignty
now dats bible.
jezuz, take the wheel
dontcha see him wit his hands up
youngB, wit his hands up
won’t git up
spilt blood runnin’ up
da street MikeBrown git on up
da street JamesBrown get on up
blackness all up
in there in flight wit my hands up
revolutionary grace
possibility on the horizon that’s already here
fergu(losta)son of God
church folk move, git out da way
here comes de crowd of fergu(losta)son
a new ecclesiology, monastic blackology
here comes de Lawd
chu’ch in de wild wild midwestside blues
tarrying for the holyghost
working for justice
witness of new hope and faith
※
now ya’ preachin’!
broked up runaway words that wont shut up
no words in fergu(losta)son
some wuds from fergu(losta)son
sorry for being so wurdy and a little nerdy
somebody said, blackness is stu(r)dy,
studying change on the fm dial
studying on the lower frequencies
somewhere twixt’n’tween body skin and flesh
study blackness studying Gaza stu(r)dying
fergus(losta)son to injustice
alleluia kyrie eleison …
lesion … lesion …
fergu(losta)son
cryin.n.dyin n.a.u.s. wilderness of democracy
and not only do the mouths sing, but the hands, the feet, the buttocks, the genitals and your entire being liquefies into sounds (of the crowd), voices (crying out loud), and rhythms (of a broken beat)
aimé speak –
in’ from the grave
notebook of a return to
fergu(losta)son
inasmuch as you did it to mikeB
you did it to me
fergu(losta)son
imma fugitive
theologian
in mourning
paratheological
blackness in exile
hidin’ from the police
walkin’ down da street
in a loophole of retreat
cuz’ fergu(losta)son
im j.kamin
in furtive
(it aint futile)
flight outside
da (state
holdin’ da) line
on-the-run
cuz’
fergu(losta)son
rip.mikeB
amen