Viper ParkWe hang about on crossroadsMore Like This
or outside liquor stores
always in our thermals, hoods up
come evening, it’s a buzz
they recognise us by our palms
the mark tattooed there
where they drop the credit
sheets of rain, signs
on ground level and how
we show them their future.
Wounded animalsThere’s rain, the overhead raysMore Like This
of cruising taxis, noodle bars
docked for poor hygiene and
I’m fifty years older than you.
From your little blue dress
I’d say you weren’t born here.
New fibre, well cut; I’d say
you were born in Paradise.
You hold out a hand to me like
you’ve never known ground level.
You hold out your small hand
and it’s your lucky day.
The ArrivalWhen the doorbell trills,More Like This
Denis, back from Asia,
androgynous indie rocker,
a girl under each arm,
leopard print pants,
wreathed, liquored up,
stirring us like
a runner in the woods.
I have come from beyond
the borders of the civilised
world, he tells us.
are loosed on the table,
and a violent mix tape.
Now we're dancing with
our accountant neighbours.
Is there a power cut?
The girls have vanished.
Yvonne, whose baby son
died, refuses a proffered
glass of red. And from
a rucksack Denis pulls
black minerals, figurines,
His face is a mask, cool,
unyielding. We are tenants
in a stranger's house.
Drowsing, waking, light
steeps the statues,
stranded in fag ash,
Pompeians splashed with
the dregs of the wine.
The RecordingYou have asked me to make a recordingMore Like This
that you can take with you when you cross
the dark matter plain
because I have crossed it many times
and know what it is like to move
among particles that shed no light.
First there will be asteroid fields,
planets like luminous floating heads, suns.
As the pressure begins to rise
and you close on the dark matter plain
I cannot tell you for how long
or if you move beyond it
whether you will have to return.
But passing among particles that shed no light
can also be beautiful.
You have asked me to make a recording
and I have done so.
The Great White Fright, Part 1Today marks the anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation.More Like This
The social construct of "race" has been getting a lot of attention the past couple of years, which ultimately is a good thing. Gee, elect someone to the Presidency who has darker skin than Martha Stewart and the bumpkins completely lose it. Sigh.
What did you expect? "Welcome, sonny"? "Make yourself at home"? "Marry my daughter"? These are people of the land, the common clay. You know...morons. - Jim, Blazing Saddles
What exactly does "social construct" mean, Gramps, and who creates these things?
In a nutshell, social constructs are ontologically subjective - they don't exist without the agreement and acceptance of a social group (unlike, say, an ocean). Usually the dominant group in a society decides who gets the power, the privileges and, consequently, who doesn't. Black folk make up 12-13% of the US population. Guess which end
A Ceiling Bas-relief (the Fontaine House)1.1850. To typhus, the only boyMore Like This
of a tinsmith, lost. Off to the side
of the mourning, swinging its
neck, the child's pet swan rejects
food, follows its small master.
The smith resumes work. Borne
by river Natchez to Memphis,
across years he labors, ornamenting
the homes of the wealthy.
In 1870, to this house, comes...
2.Atop a scaffold, face uplifted,
Kneeling. He applies
A thin base. An oval frame
Molds. Hands floating,
The curved outline of wings
Forms, feather by feather
Details. Now, between the wings,
Eyes, a delicate nose--
Stare: the smith's hands
long since air,
Lively, this face with his jaw.
MaydayA chalked hopscotch of leopard headsMore Like This
the first hint, as all over the capital
police clashed with artists, some
mere teenagers. 'Where were
the parents?' demanded Jo Hicks,
from the shell of her paint-bombed
bakery. As daylight thinned,
mosaic cups, a Bacchus crew tag,
sprang up in parks and shopping malls.
Jumped at Bow by feral bards,
lawyer Tim Poynter tells,
'I'd never heard anything like it.'
Elsewhere, an OAP was treated for shock,
after mistaking for a phone box
a replica: papier-mâché.
And perhaps most seriously,
a boy was surrounded, blindfolded,
and assaulted with performance poetry
until police marksmen moved in.
Dawn broke on a silent city,
the morning curfew advanced
so officers could scour debris,
dismantle works of art.