Float
"Don't gimme this bullshit, Cassius, it's about
me, and yo' disrespect. Don't think I don't see
where yo' eyes roll and you pout
that yo' daddy's just a sign painter. You'd be
lucky to be straight as me.
You think I'm a coon,
shufflin' off for the white man.
You's just a fool, too,
thinkin' these well-dressed niggers
will hide who you be owin'.
I'm no fool. I seen you since you was aborn.
You think yo' mama an' me is somethin' shamed,
but we both proud, free and strong.
We owe no man no money fo' our good names,
whilst you chose yo' chains- not me!
'It is the confession, not the priest that gives absolution.'- The Picture Of Dorian Gray
Who gazes past the orbit of the night
flaming through boxcars (bringing the bare
outlines of bodies) bound to rumble through,
two states in one night (wail to the sky
of the unfairness of it all). The saucer of milk
lays and a rail cat cries in the old man's arms.
He tells others of Joe Hill and the day.
he tells me of a Negro who was hanged
in Utica, New York- of all the places….
He has no fear- we share the hunger.
Death is our familiar, and no creed dispels
his smile. The blood that comes is drained
from the kings of Mississippi, France,
Rome, and old Africa. There is a wound
I have heard of, but never felt. The accumulation
of stars' light makes me dream of the future. One
day, I will be happy. One day I will
have a son. The days will boil in to the next
patterns of doubt, & I will always ride,
and these tracks will always gleam, shorn
of old rusts, and dreams of the 20th Century
Limited, where my name- and his- will be, is,
and always was the colloquy between man and not
(or at least it sounds good with this chill autumn moon).
Sting
X-this. X-that. Yo' name ain't X-nothing, boy. Yo' name is mine.
You was named after two great men- a strong Abolitionist
and the Roman General he was named fo'. Yo' name will shine
an' represent our family well. Jus' cuz they gave you the win
over that dark Negro don't mean y'all been kissed
by the Lawd. You got mo' sins
now'n you ever did befo'.
Don't be fallin' for how these jive niggers talk;
An' those killers who own the rackets- you jus' they latest ho',
no matter how much they pay you. Look straight, an' don't let'em make
the ransom of silver against yo' eyes' close.
Float
Six inches. Not a millimeter closer.
Six inches. He didn't even try to punch
me. It stayed right there. All night
I thought about refusing, but Carbo purrs,
"Just take it, Sonny. Stay down."
So I did. The lights
hurt my eyes. I hear the boy
pretending he won.
But he did. Just six inches.
Now people will laugh. The fear
is gone. Six inches separates the monster
from the man, in a sweet untangle of flesh
that the reporters who stir
legends from will miss. I didn't even crash
to the canvas. I laid down.
'Let me say to you now that to do nothing at all is the most difficult thing in the world, the most difficult thing and the most intellectual.'- The Critic As Artist
It is all rising against me. I think.
It is all part of the plot that fool nigger made with Carbo.
I have no real opportunities. I think. I'm just a slab the butchers say 'Next!' to.
I saw that little boy dancing and smiling and fearing I would turn.
I think. I am the last man to hold this title, ever.
I know he knows I could really kill him.
He knows I know I won't, or can't. I think.
I am a mistake on the living.
I think I am a joke on the typewriter.
I am nothing but a nigger with meager skills.
I am nothing but a con with a debt to fill. I think.
I am nothing but a stepping-stone for the new moneymaker.
I am the sacrificed beast for a darker knight.
I am here, in font of a second-rate joint, puffing wildly on a shit cigarette as the
future goes away, farther than I had hoped.
I think. I am nothing but a has-been with darker skin and no dreams of helping
those worse than me- & why the fuck should I? I think.
I haven't heard of Norman Mailer and don't give a shit, and I don't give a rat's-
ass about no Rosa Parks bullshit, or that Martin Luther King fool who travels
with no protection, and my past is a tiger again.
I think. It is all coming out now.
It is all about cocaine.
It is all about liquor.
It is all about fulfilling.
It is something I'd rather not do.
I never heard or spoke no Russian. I think. I got nothing that's mine but my fists. I
think.
When I fight they are serious against me.
When I look at their eyes my body is seized.
When I speak they make silence a thing.
When I stand they smell me and cower.
When I win destruction is just my name.
When I lose all eyes look no more.
Sting
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I am the better man! I could'a killed him
ten times over! Everyone knows that but no one will speak up"
As he pulls down his trunks his piss is brown, and starts polluting
the urinal's golden main, where a dead fly floats in the stink
that keeps him awake, even as his tongue shapes
over that dark Negro don't mean y'all been kissed
his feelings, before he thinks
over that dark Negro don't mean y'all been kissed
what touches it all, without
hands, and leaves- like pride despairs the dragon's eye-
is a power known best in its refrain. The kind where no shout,
that echoes off tiles, can stain. He pulls it from the wall and cries
in a porcelained echo: "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
Float
Nigger, you think you playing me, don't you? Yeah,
you think I don't know about all your cheap whores-
over that dark Negro don't mean y'all been kissed
the white ones, especially?
You think I'm'a gonna crawl up and beg ya'
over that dark Negro don't mean y'all been kissed
to be true- cuz you da cream
of the crop- right? Wrong,
fool! I'll divorce your black ass
and smile through it.
You think I ain't watchin' you?
You think I'm just for babies?
Fool! Sometimes I'm there and care. Sometimes I don't
give a damn. But you should worry, Sweetie, you
over that dark Negro don't mean y'all been kissed
should. Cuz there's nothing I won't
do to prove you a liar and cheat. We through.
over that dark Negro don't mean y'all been kissed
Then you WILL know what I mean!
'My husband is a sort of promissory note; I'm tired of meeting him.'- A Woman Of No Importance
Say I am nothing without you. Say I am more than you know. Say this, say that. I have had your say of me enough. Say that. Say what you want. You is mine. You is not. You is more than what I want. Say that you love me. Say that you don't. Say anything that you want to say. Say all that you can. Say it to him. Say it to her. Say that you never threw a fight. Say that you never owed anyone anything. Say everything does not matter. Say that you pretty. Say that you The Greatest. Say that no one understands you. Say that you becoming something more. Say that the world don't understand you. Say that the Vietcong ain't your enemy. Say that the white man's out to get you. Say that you ain't his boy. Say anything you want. Say that life ain't fair. Say that you love me. Say I am nothing without you. Say something about salvation.
You are not my….
Sting
Don't give me none of that "Allah thinks. Man acts." bullshit, Cassius.
I was there at all the meetings and saw all the girls you knew.
I know about all the things Elijah's done. Poor Malcolm was
wise, too. Don't think that cuz all these niggers can keep my words away
that you will always win. The truth filters through
like the sun that kisses gray
clouds to death, in an absent
of moment, it all will come back. You will see
that you ain't no Muhammad, just a Kentucky nigger, meant
to carry the coin for some gangsters. And know what landed me
wasn't your chocolate volcano- but your green!
Float
How do I approach him? How do I dare ask
this man if it's over? He has been beaten
like no one else could. A task
thought impossible before this draft nonsense
robbed him of vital essence.
Or am I wistful?
Nay, panglossian. I think
not. Or am I swayed
by emotion? I can't say
if I will find the right words,
or if it's all supererogatory.
Frazier wielded rancor no pity could bed,
and who could blame him his grief?
I am thinking of galaxies yet formed,
now, much less those ever dreamt.
'I often have long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying.'- The Remarkable Rocket
This is Howard Cosell, ABC Sports,
speaking of sports, and the precipitous fall
of one Mu-Hammad A- Li from the absolute apex
of the sweet science, to the groins of despair.
As a follower of Muhammad's, the former
Cassius Clay, Olympic Boxing Champion of 1960,
I can tell you that the ranks of heavyweight pugilism,
the last year or so, have been devoid of the sheer electricity
brought to bear by the presence of the self-proclaimed
Greatest Of All Time. My friends, what creates and ratiocinates
from the aura of the man, himself, is like the best
of snows- it comes in the night, when the public
is oblivious, and disdains the very bartering of the new
for what came before. The minds-eye of the public
is like that of a dying Bedouin, drying in the desert
that illudes what the day blows through. This, is the spot
where Muhammad Ali finds himself now- in the shadow
of "Smokin'" Joe Frazier, and other top contenders
for the crown, like George Foreman, and Kenny Norton-
the man who recently shattered Muhammad's jaw,
and brought crashing down the career of yours truly,
as well. My friends, I beseech you to witness the man,
himself, even as my sweet Emmy tells me he is but another
tool for my self-promotion. This is Howard Cosell.
Sting
"This is Howard Cosell, reporting to you, live from New York,
where the stunning defeat of Muhammad Ali, formerly
known as Casius Marcellus Clay, is the only thing folk talk
of, in the sports world. "Smokin'" Joe Frazier won a brutal match,
and that aura of invincibility,
once Ali's alone, is smashed
forever! There are seisms
of weeping from the Ali partisans. This
reporter believes this could be the passing of the seasons
in boxing. A proud champion stands above what was the mess
of heavyweight boxing. Ali may be done!"
Float
I got my bar. I got alot more than him.
The people of Philadelphia know me
as a man who lived a dream.
Because I lost don't mean I gave up on me.
Let him live the high life. Let
him think he's all free
of the shit. He ain't. He knows
he's been bought and paid
for. Norton knows. We all know.
Foreman knows it, too. He lost
'cause he's stupid, like the brass fingers of doom
that took him out. But I got mine, and that's cool.
-PeeWee, bring over a broom
and sweep this mess up- Y'see, I ain't the fool
whose past can never forget.
'Industry is the root of all ugliness.'- Phrases And Philosophies For The Use Of The Young
There must be a way to touch
the life I live. I feel naked
when I haul the garbage
cans out back. I feel something
like the wings of the newborns
I found. In their nest, they yap
and want only to want, with mouths
only open, screechingly impinging
on the universe, their bodies all
of hunger, until the return
of their mother.
I,
too, must impinge on things,
the deals I gotta make to survive,
the books I must read to know,
the songs I must sing alone, always
to be myself. In that eventual place
where everyone dreams, I will, too,
wait alone in winter, for the life
that reaches out from behind my bar,
that becomes me, myself, and is alone.
Sting
"Motherfucker calls me a gorilla? An ape!? I'll kill him,
and then kill him again. I helped his sorry black ass when I
thought he was poor and in trouble- then acts like this?" He begins
to breathe at a normal pace. The climb and fall of their voices
finds a place in the swing of his swollen eyes,
filling with hate's devices,
too numerous to mention.
He longs to give this swelling the liberty
some regret, that which no law accepts, and his fists' intention
makes his mirror a multitude. In this brief release he sees
himself in the memories, and their despise.
Float
Don't give me that shit about Cleveland. Only
in America could a black hood succeed
so fine. I got mine. 'Lonely'
is not how I'd describe success. Who said greed
was a sin was a damn fool!
A man must be clear
in his vision. To succeed
a man must be true
to himself. But, being true
is another thing. I knew
too many brothers who knew the business ends
of nooses, and no spirituals they sing
can bring a man back. Pretend
all you will, but a mathematical thing
is the cosmos. I'm its tool.
'Ambition is the last refuge of the failure.'- Phrases And Philosophies For The Use Of The Young
If brother will kill brother
would cousins hesitate? I think
not, my friend. We all float
on the thin draft of nothing,
and fear the reflections that swell
toward us, and away. I am not afraid
of what spills confessions,
and turn my body away from desires
of that sort. Yes, brilliant minds
run on politics of others,
and never trust their poetics. I see
you know, too. What will you be?
The wall of my self is unbinding.
Sting
There's no place for the black man at the White Man's table, unless
you take it. No apologies. Do you think I am the only
boxing promoter with a questionable past? Take a guess
at the people Bob Arum knows. He is no better or worse
than me, or any of the others. Go see
who the alphabet soups curse-
me, Don King. Do you know why?
Because to me 'Black is Beautiful' ain't no
old bumper sticker. I stick up for and make black folk rich. I
give brothers hope. And for this they damn me- it is so wrong, so
wrong! I best make sure my cash cows are still strong.
Float
I will smile when you die. You will know why-
because love is greater than any other
thing, and ours can't deny
itself. But when you grow cold I will sever
myself from your memory.
I will laugh at you.
I will count all the money
I have stashed away,
while you babble on, punch-drunk,
and dream of your glories. I
know they were bought and paid for. You are a fraud.
You never had the ability to win
on your own. You were a scared
boy who thought life was mere accumulation-
and maybe yours was. I see.
'A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.'- The Critic As Artist
Notes On Appearance And Etiquette:
I am not what resides on the table. I glimmer of my own accord. The cat will not cross my way. The dog stays beyond the door. The faucet is in its place. So am I.
This has been on my thinking. To stop all reminders of the past. The inequities have been rectified. I have restored equilibrium. In a deep purple chair two fists struggle to open.
I recall the first time your hands shook across my breasts. My nipples were erect with seduction. When you could not even grasp them I looked at you. My smile was mockery.
There is no estrangement on the eyes. I am all worth remembering. In the imagined his eyes hurt. But here, age has stripped all decision and strength. I am the phrase worth stating. He is what lips cannot.
Sting
I see you. I see you. Don't drool on me no more! Muhammad,
understand this if you can. No one really cares about you-
just your image, your car, your game. They care about that, instead
of whether your diapers smell at night. You are so old and dumb
I wonder if anything you were was true.
I love your eyes in their numb
bewilderment. It is you
to a T. And let me give you something to
drink about. Take a sip and this will all feel better, and you
will smile forever, lost in fraud. No one ever loved you.
Now, sleep in that which is all, or all again.
