The human is merely a prop
The human is swung and tossed around
Bound by contradiction, uncertainty, and misguided ambition
Those deep into the ghettos of empire
And the other the ivory tower,
Groveling for a chance to cry out on the granite floors atop of pillaged bodies
To go back home, tell my children I made history, my tears convinced them!
The ivory tower,
Coated in excess and the paints of plunder
As much as despised, so heavily consumed, there is no antidote to the ill of wanting to be human.
The ivory tower,
These peeling walls of carcerality become exposed
These embroidered imaginations on skin
There once pulled and tugged
There through the chains and barbed wire
There peers the pure illumination of life
It’s explosive – dangerous.
In the ivory tower,
The humans are no longer of flesh
no longer described as blue, yellow, black while the white man ensures his racial sincerity.
The light that emerges is not one that is blinding.
It’s scary, it’s full, it’s colored, it’s dripping.
Drops of orbital energy leak onto the tiles of the tower
Its cosmological richness is impenetrable, is it too much? We have to clean it up.
Must the illumination of life be untouchable? unfathomable? unseekable?
Disregarded and sewn back up into the prop that is the human?
Must we go back to running away from the rabid dogs of violence from the calls to be inside before the streetlights are on?
There lies no facet of life, untouched by the blood covered hands of control, the illumination is invisible to the eye of such evil and complicity.
Too occupied with sucking and suppressing the sacred and romanticized magic that must be there to see the magical light.
But there is no magic, there is no inherent genealogical build
They know this, yet destroy luminous lineages in the search for sustaining the fantasy, that is to be human.