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. only the best drug paraphernalia here.
Food stamps can be purchased as well; 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 Love, mouth it to your brother, “Blessed be!”
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– Ask yourself again: how can I be helpful?
you can stand still, breathe shallow, carry nothing, own nothing but contrition and goodwill.
you may think, Goodwill is another word for secondhand, perhaps you rage
along the torn page of your mind.
never mind: if he had not (followed the strange barked orders to crawl, hands over head, do not move, hands out front, crawl, fall on face, BANG.)
smoked weed, sold loose cigarettes, worn a hoodie, ran away)…. those livid on behalf of the killers will cry for them:
“why did he run? only the guilty run.”
how can you argue? stop thinking: in those moments before death he breathed beholden gasps but he had run on legs that could run (his body more free than his soul or his future).
as for the Rough Ride you are agitated over: there were all these cops in the car, but no camera, thus, no one knows what happened. It’s going to stay a fucking mystery! Blue America, complete blackout! That’s the way it is!
don’t call “9-1-1, what happened to the man in a coma and then dead a little beyond that ride? Can you tell me? Are you on the way?”
do not have questions. Do not seek help.
you must be full of grace, and just as grace notes are choices, then– when the musicians are so moved– the grace notes will be utilized, and border the narratives of the song and it will thrill us with something extra, something fine.
something-something Martin Luther . Something-something pray.