This Needs Chinese Wash Or Why I Sent Moravian Cookies
You know the word.
Hidden, screaming, stinking.
At you means schizophrenia
Except when it doesn’t.
Who gets to say what’s culturally normal,
When witchdoctors heal
And performers treat
While medics vibe out
And doctors Medi-don’t-care
Yet many (we hope all) still do while feeling like the word
In a sea of every facet of the genera of jokes
In every color and blood libel.
Filth, it screams and dies on it.
Friend it smooths over and binds out
Gross it weighs with sideyed, bugged out, stride breaking tongue darting into corners of mouths until your breath catches and they blame it on love which they’ve never known, but I digress…
Then it talks citrus fruit homonym and legs --
It fucking touches.
It feels all over your mouth and your breast.
It feels all over your wallet and your hands.
It makes over your legs and makes nasty on purpose.
It goes through your hair, no matter what you have.
It makes you talk over its teeth.
It does this in Antarctica but you can’t say it.
And sometimes a Chinese “racist dad”
Chasing one thieving out by word with a broom
Is more woke and life honoring
Than slapping someone for saying the word
In class, mind you, proceeded by Jim
And now you wonder
“Did that man show up to ruin Huck?”
Because that wasn’t about freedom.
No, that was about Jim.
He wasn’t Black Jim, and that’s all I’m saying.
And to dishonor the story and the man,
As well as water down the truth,
Is playing slave games with words
Instead of hearing you’re considered one too.
This word bends and beats its feet with a poke.
While looking right at you and leering everything you hate and everything you know should work better.
It looks at your car and the dead hillfolk who made liquorcycles.
Notice you thought they were DWI
And the difference between assuming DUI
For a medication or religious time or peace negotiation
3 months ago if you’re chuffy as the word says
When they just made fuel
And ended global warming
Through this and meditation
Sometimes with a bong or backwoods
And here you think of thieving
And then thinking they passively can’t do anything
Including stealing, killing and beating
That you just blood libeled onto a fictional person
Because Anslinger and friends
Think a champagne glass
As an ashtray
With a cultural toss
To be swept up and reformed
(By faggots of pollards
Which you’re adult enough now
To realize could solve much
And has nothing to do here with sexualty)
Is shakingly horriful
Death to mankindable
So you must want to suck a brown dick
Because it made you the word
And the plant surely means sucking a brown dick.
Doesn’t it? And you look at them with other preferences
Partly due to the scam and word
And wonder why they just made you the word again
And the plant
And every law enforcer and Black (which here does not mean race)
And tried it on every jurist
Here they squirm.
Because the plant and the word are funny.
Just funny, just a trifle worth life.
Read that again.
And now everything is awkward.
So now people are just white knees and brown dicks.
But all of us are the word, now.
I can hear the word reeling out of Gullah mouths
At the people “safe” from it because they puppeteer the word
Onto everyone and everything, here a non-racial earned pejorative.
Which makes this whole mess clot hard
Around the hatred of the “joke”.
Because now it means something specific
That I can’t say
About people calling me that word
Because they made it about skin
Which is the joke,
Compounded by the joke
That they did this shitty stuff to me
To make me the specific word
By being the word used that other way
Because perhaps they thought I might think less
Of skin, instead of owning they had a booger
And 2-5 year olds know adults have boogers
And readily laugh.
But sometimes that feels like power
When having a booger is being the word
In a whole other way.
Like having an acquaintance
Thought to be your lover
Because of your skin
And a couple of religions
And the other’s skin
Makes me the word
With words coming up feeling on
And grabby hands ready to feel over
When all it was was just the same respect
You give back and forth
With any other coworker or say UPS driver
Or pharmacist or tech or anything else
Even backed by law
But hell, the word
And Anslinger’s fetish
Makes us ill.
Why would it matter?
Or is that the taste of the foot in their mouth
Eroding all sense
Until we’re circling around pretending wisdom
Dizzy and Dixie Cupped
Until exhaustion reminds us that our reaction
Is who we are – yet why react instead of act?
So let’s not kill the planet while pretending.
Let’s let them get out the dolls,
Instead of cutting off the hair,
Lining the stairs,
Screaming at people for eating, for everything,
While pretending lust is not wanting to control
Which is why this word was invented.
At least partially, because we understand homophones.
This is all over their ghetto town.
Who is “their”?
That’s where the blame falls.
But the reaction is the word.
So they section with a hot comb they call red lining
And make white folk feel weird for combing
And they divide by purse
Then they divide by luxury level of car
Which gets nothing per gallon
Except prison if you do too well tinkering
Sometimes, unless you’re “in”.
Or you hide it, and show it,
Exactly by their whim.
Then they divide by skin and background
Then they titter behind curtains
Making up stories and rules and changing their minds.
Sherman had 1,000 contraband drowned it is written
And the Smithsonian is reported to patrol all.
We’re damn super, thanks for asking.
Just ask ducks and dolphins
And everyone wondering why their genitalia
Is so possessed and offensive
That these inside jokes are better than, you know…
Having freedom. Which we all have. But for the word.
So acting out feels powerful, which is rare
If you are the word, especially in accepted pejorative
So you act the description for identity
Or so I’m told while people bring a bar of soap
For the clan that’s Coon and yet often white
Or others with the name “Wishful Thinking”
When it’s just as documented as any other community
So don’t ask for oil money, truth or ownership of land
Because what you are needs to go over your head.
Ghettos where people think they are wealthy.
Ghettos where people think they hide their money.
Ghettos where spaghetti is Backpage dirty.
And sex is assigned as coldly as your plaid chair color.
This word reeks and sprays mall perfume on its asshole
Where you can kiss it, misquoting Coco Chanel
Then gripes at the cancer it pretends to have
In its third body this year, 1 performing handicapped
While calling everyone verm over “personal steak”
And then watching slag porn and hating nerds
Because it knows what that means.
Stinking means racism.
Preference is deleted with this word.
It’s just gyrating to a manic drum
That little pajamaed and pink shirted
girls and grrls and all kinds of spellings
Who need their bag of cereal
More than their dignity
Or real experience
Bop to, looking away,
Sectioned into self-whatever
Until the whistle blows
And whatever that was
Passes away, because this can’t be real
So we pull over like a Southern Funeral is passing
Because whatever that is just lying there
Isn’t us, yet we respect the fallen
And hope they got their red shirt
On actually living instead of a Star Trek coldness
Or hell no more of the same
That would send us to the Devil
Scorecard in hand
Asking what made ministers and attorneys
Wear black this last few generations.
And maybe, just maybe,
God will be lurking in hell, doing a rail
Like some hiding queen or lawyer
Trying to cope with this drama.
Unique is about not being this word.
And unique is what made armies march.
Together in lines, then together in holes,
Then independently, then somehow we forgot
That defense was personal,
Which means we need an adult on the phone
Who doesn’t come in shooting
Or hauling us to jail while playing hero
To figure out what to do
To defend the person shaking that someone tried to hurt them
They acknowledge things happen, so blood libel must go to the shower
While leaving persons to bathe normally,
And plants to grow carefully in our yards.
The word is about taking: it, we, they.
What you can take for free, and how it got free.
And going where you’re wanted
And sometimes where you’re not
With knotted tummy and the hatred of that word
At one another, but really at the word.
So we look draggled because we won’t,
And sometimes to assert we can.
And sometimes we’re the opposite
And sometimes we reown words
Even when people don’t like it
Or come with a dictionary
Like Webster, adding conversation.
Or get our ancestor’s salads
From Youtube Videos
With a stranger’s hand at the top
“Jew Salad” was apparently an order,
And the handwriting matches too much.
Which means they tried to remove heaven
While using a word again that makes people sigh territorially
And dismiss real evidence.
Then John 1:1.
Then remember we are gods, not as gods.
And that translates to any religion
or none -- which is still religion at law.
Because the word isn’t for black man
Woman, in between.
It’s a scam.
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PoetAnna Creasman Lamm
PoetAnna Creasman Lamm