Dear Ol' Dirty Bastard: I too like it raw,



I don't especially care for Duke Ellington



at a birthday party. I care less and less



about the shapes of shapes because forms



change and nothing is more durable than feeling.



My uncle used the money I gave him



to buy a few vials of what looked like candy



after the party where my grandma sang



in an outfit that was obviously made



for a West African king. My motto is



Never mistake what it is for what it looks like.



My generosity, for example, is mostly a form



of vanity. A bandanna is a useful handkerchief,



but a handkerchief is a useless-ass bandanna.



This only looks like a footnote in my report



concerning the party. Trill stands for what is



truly real though it may be hidden by the houses



just over the hills between us, by the hands



on the bars between us. That picture



of my grandmother with my uncle



when he was a baby is not trill. What it is



is the feeling felt seeing garbagemen drift



along the predawn avenues, a sloppy slow rain



taking its time to the coast. Milquetoast



is not trill, nor is bouillabaisse. Bakku-shan



is Japanese for a woman who is beautiful



only when viewed from behind. Like I was saying,



my motto is Never mistake what it looks like



for what it is else you end up like that Negro



Othello. (Was Othello a Negro?) Don't you lie



about who you are sometimes and then realize



the lie is true? You are blind to your power, Brother



Bastard, like the king who wanders his kingdom



searching for the king. And that's okay.



No one will tell you you are the king.



No one really wants a king anyway.









