::08:03:08::

::: Barkley L. Hendricks: Birth of the Cool :::

I want to die textured like denim overalls worn thin and second-skin-like,
to die imprinted against a bubblegum pink background: t i m e s t a m p e d
Languid in my lank, press me out

She has tan lines unveiling carmelbrown burned black and confined to clothing

Sweet thang
show me how you swing those hips
Sweet thang
show me how you purse your lips
Sweet thang
show me how to bounce that hair
Sweet thang
show me that stare only you stare
Sweet thang

Women in wicked white have grown to glow green against sparking canvases,
against sparkling apparatuses
And I can see that we have forgotten our projected selves

Sketch me long as an Elizabethan blazon
baking in the afterhaze of a midday watermelon served on ice
lime cookies to melt on tongues
as he calls me “lady”—unknowing of my sexual history
I must show him my ladylike side for looking so good in that suit.

In the highlight of a sun setting over horizontally etched trees,
the word B*TCH is clearly visible across her spilling breasts melted chocolate smooth

We can come down together on a Sunday morning
basking in our skins and aware the thickening light will breathe beauty into our accidents

In her sheer skirt and opaque heels watch her switch to the image
white in quiet acknowledgement
quiet in white ambivalence
Experience with me, soul sister, the absence of oppression
the absence of evaluation

Come quiet with me
Recognize with me

Blood is hostile in the dirty south, in the unforgiving generation.
Subdue me now before the levee breaks

Her glasses like transparent stop signs—beacons of the self
Envelope her with self-portraits and make us congruent in the funny things.
See me as I am in my least parodic state
I am revolutionary in my black youth

Written by: ~ Sequoia