Category Archives: Lit Review

Various institutions engaged in a cultural war to neutralize Black musicians who had the potential to be political leaders. — Read on hoodcommunist.org/2022/05/19/war-against-black-musicians/amp/

can’t describe the thing you do to mehow can i transcribe bee sting?the rings the buzzes of birds beestrees talk to me it’s a shock to me chip off the blockyou see i been lovin you from light-yearsbeen knowing youfor night-yearsscrews tighten on us / sight tearspressure-boil as fascists oilsubmachinegunstragic-to think leisure will foil plotsmagicContinue reading “screws loose”

i was never really like thiscould never really recite thisodes were bitingundelightingi was spiting everything in front of meblack windows green eyeshazel blood invitingalien tears / tracksmeadows where marigolds marinated in mercurium, oh my!i was never really like this /ines of /inenetched!stretched!across

now i know men ain’t supposed to cry big girls neitherbut when you get to be with the onewho swept you off your feet eight months prior and now u gotta pack up and go home after eight days well i think that’s cause for some tearshappy and sad ones green tearshot tearsafter denying myselfContinue reading “wonder boy”

we have been bio-logicallyinclined, i prefer conditionedwe have been conditioned with the bio-logic which hold that life is form is functionis permanently fixed unfuxkwittablebut us we know this bio-logic clockis a lie a myth a making uscrazy and begone! begina new era of loving living& licking

yesterday was the day before today was today, the day before tomorrow was the day you told me you caredthe day after i stopped caringand after thatthere were no more days to count

There are so many roots to the tree of anger that sometimes the branches shatter before they bear. — Read on sites.williams.edu/engl113-f18/marr/who-said-it-was-simple/

your breath the sweet cradle of my nights, your chest rising and falling the metronome that stilled my heart my paranoia melting in your armsi was safe there / i was not always therei came to this place and i was alone even though i was always saying we are never alone, i was aloneContinue reading “metronome #1”

by Maureen N. McLane What a strange, vital, careening book—what a book for now. Yet also, what a fascinating document of the early 20th century. A Poet in New York, “New York in a Poet,” as Lorca himself glossed it: this is clearly one of the great works of transnational modernism, a cracked A… —Continue reading “On Lorca’s Poet in New York | Work in Progress”