Nigga in the Woodpile

a rant

 for James Watson, Bonnie Hardwick, et al.

 by J.J.Phillips

 

Part I

  

I am that nigga

In your woodpile

 

black hole

everything that is

no thing.

 

Dark matter

inscrutable

presence of absence

 

skulking in the back

alleys of your mind.

 

Bête noire

bad dream

that refuses to disperse

at daybreak

ineluctably mordant

force gone ape.

 

Labbalabbalabbalabbalabbalabbalabba

labbalabbalabbalabba

labbalabba

labbalabbalabbalabba

labbalabbalabbalabbala.

 

Mean cut you with a razor gene

shiftless vagrant in the blood

caught in the kink of the chromosome

caught in the kink of the hair  curling

in the nostril’s angry flair

in the prognathous jaw  locked

in a truculent pout of the lip

 

in a certain sly cast

of the mind and eye  it lies

in a big high butt
and jut of hip.

 

A telltale trace

at the base of the fingernail

betrays the race.

 

Mitochondria

Yo mama.

 

Labbalabbalabbalabbalabbalabbalabbalabba

labbalabbalabbalabbala

labbalabbalabbalabba

labbalabbalabbalabba

labbalabbalalala.

 

Skeleton rattling in the closet

jump back Jack

dem dry bones gwine rise.

 

Spook

Spade

Rastus

Shine

 

Macaca

Alligator bait

Missing Link

in the Great Chain of Being

 

Native bearer

of  the genetic load.

 

Wild thing in you

raging untamed

nourished in the blackest

folds of your heart  dark

fear of self you dare not

face  turned inside out

the son of Ham

the brand of race

shame of self

you give my name.

 

I am that nigga

in your woodpile

 

Labbalabbalabbalabba

Jiggajiggajigga Boo!