Blanche Bruce Does the Modernism

let us go then let us go then I said
and the band was I lone every which

way way my spit slicked the sax’s brass chitlins. I said
    such wet would

mud dust and soil red rock. I said
doors to some room blown out the out

blown in. let us go then let us go then. I said
   check the spit’s phlegm

tenements. I said
its slow typhoon syrup. it blooms the axe up and

loams gypsum I said
   earths marblebaster. let us go then let us go then I

preference of red or white I said

my spit. where I was was where to

be when I was there and what I made was it since it was where it was
wasn’t it I said.
    but the body mustn’t be there I said.

but the shapes are

there I said
here’s what we’ll do. let us go then let us go then wailing

and whaling till one was off the chain I said
fuck it. keeping time in a

gorilla suit for the mud to come on uh i uh ii uh iii    ...    uh cxvii and
took it to the bridge to throw down wet

    wet I said.

mold on that alabarble a salad

a crop gainin on yuh in a gorilla suit I said.
gaining on you I said

I’ll take

my time and yours and the bandstand gardened out let us go then let
us go then and then we


Editor’s Note: This poem is part of a larger portfolio, “Freedom of Shadow: A Tribute to Terry Adkins.” The rest of the related work can be found in the September 2014 issue of Poetry.
Source: Poetry (September 2014)
More Poems by Douglas Kearney