by Rodrick Minor
On a cherryplanked floor in Durham
I twerk my soul
into the weekend
I sweat out my devils over
the crooner’s voice An exorcism in the wee hours
Hips gyrate allusions of Jazz June
in a beehive of
celestial beings Fingers pranced in air
as if the Holy Ghost grasp last week’s despair
Utopia is a prayer often flawed yet when perfect
everything is invincible here
Dance my blackness and sins
in this hole in the wall and I make sweet love
Feverishly until I’m christened in a sea of survivors
and the banners
sway
in the rafters
like a manifesto
Tonight I do not feel
grotesque
suicidal
poor
Am not the blackblue pulse scratchin
for a throb, my existence
Press my smile towards the light fixtures as
God
is kissing anew me into next week
Watch me moonwalk in heaven
for a moment
Watch me
illuminate
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