J

darkness ain’t shit

until you see silver outlines

of your mama telling you

your soul is not worth a pork rump.

Darkness.  Hallucination.

the din of incarceration, salt-caked

walls hovering between each labored breath

a face stuck to a cold, shit-stained

floor.  I know the Man is in me deep,

so deep that I can tear eyes out of my

own head, the cacophony of madness

being the incessant ting of a water drip.

Suddenly.  A pulse. Saintly reed

and every spirit released as black notes:

sheets of sound

fueled by fingers of love

loving hard.  Love is always hard.

Flicking agile hands up and down

the saxophone’s soft neck

tickling her new world tenderness

with silver crowns in her mouth

prison and freedom

meld into one and

Afro-Blue

cuts slabs through thick concrete

dipping below sea level

then back up into solitary

coltrane was meant to be

and he found me, he found me

every which way, he found me

and I listen to his neon vernacular:

haaaaaaaaaaaaa, boooooppppppp!!!

ooooohhhhhh, weeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

around and down, through and back

again, lifting me high over fat ass guards, god-like

countering the man’s final solution

i think I’ll call myself Abdullah,

negro with a manifesto,

a songbird singing the blues,

walking with ‘Trane through San Quentin

rubble, skipping when I damn well please

loving hard.  love is always hard.