do not own your space nor your virulent reaction

do not own your space nor your virulent reaction. carry nothing, for nothing is yours. do not be fierce.

do not smash the windows of police cars.

The bodega at the corner has an eight-foot high countertop but

one can just touch the glass cylinders by the register–each vial has a tiny glass rose inside it for show; they cost six dollars each. Food stamps are also bought here, 25 cents on the dollar.

This store will be retooled by Good Morning America into

That Patriotic Mom and Pop In Their Very Own Neighborhood Destroyed by the anguish—

you have no anguish!  please–destroyed by Looters.

How can you light fires and march and have rage?

You can have more nothing.

Did you learn nothing from Ferguson, from Staten Island?

A chokehold will not be avenged, a killing

will lead to federal prosecutors tasked with upholding justice to amble in , investigate, peer down and up and around and walk away–

peace! now spoken from every star and striped statesman– o Baltimore! How dare you shame your city, this will not give you the goodwill of the blessed!

You cannot want more than the goodwill of the bles—the white middle class?  You shall have nothing if you fail to attain that! Do you think there is nothing for you in that? Why, if you anger them, you will see them give you less than what you have! Sing something!  Sing something hard.

Make it shake my head as I feel it with you.

Or, instead, becoming blessed, mouth to your brother, Namaste!

How else can you be helpful to the dogs that stole your neighbor’s life in a rough ride and a beat down just before? They aren’t’ dogs–  How can you be helpful? You can stand still, breathe shallow, carry nothing, own nothing but contrition and goodwill.

You think, Goodwill is another word for secondhand, perhaps you blood up, rage along the torn page of your mind.

Never mind: if he had not (smoked weed, sold loose cigarettes, worn a hoodie, ran away)….

Those livid on behalf of the killers will intone for them

“why did he run? only the guilty run.”  …in those moments while he ran,

he breathed beholden gasps but he ran on legs that could

run, strides before he died and there were all these cops in the car.

No camera, no one knows what happened.  It’s a fucking mystery! All of America, complete blackout!

Humpty B. Dumpty can’t you tell us what happened to the man into a coma and then dead a little beyond that ride? Can’t you?  But I will ask this, my white words will ask. Do not have questions.

You must be full of grace: [clears throat, explains.  Music Theory, 101: Grace notes are lilting extras; always, one can ignore them. They sit mute along the edges of the score, and when the musicians who play the music are ready for them to gently topple the song from one pretty note to the next, then–when the musician chooses— you will hear the grace.]

Something-something martin luther, something-something pray.

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