The origin of the name Niggerati here:

“Hurston’s warmth and charm along with her vibrant personality made her one of the best-liked members of the 1920s Harlem literary elite, a group which included Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, Dorothy West, and Nella Larsen. That Hurston gave this set the sobriquet “niggerati” is evidence of her considerable wit.”



How Niggerati Manor and Black Queer Artistry Live On Today


The Niggerati: Publishers of The Journal “Fire” During the Harlem Renaissance



we are the storm unfurling

whirlwinds dispersed to edges

coalesced in a river of memory

that leads to the ocean …

we remember



made imaginary

conjured from nothing

no thing like this before

white proclaimed itself

everything above all things

interpreting god

before abandoning

to become

ruler of all

creator of division



illusions of supremacy


made opposite


stripped of lineage


commodified into the

end of worlds



not human

less than

no god

no land

no thing










out side humanity

boggy men

spit from the coffers

of she dogs

used torn beat hung

written out



up jump boogie

upside ya head

you et what you shouldn’t have

we survived in the rumble

of the drum

became the wind

run river deep

cross oceans still

sitting in the fullness of

centuries tied round

your neck like

nooses you made



humming like storms do


yes outside

in another world

where you are small

in the real scheme of things

nothing in the ocean

no thing made up imaginary

selfish child with the world

by the neck as you shake

the dice

wagering everything

on nothing



blood laced memories

tasting of soil

from many rivers

resting never concoqured

waking like a return

you fear

sounds like laughter

over petty matters

before the sounds of guns

no sirens after


new chapters




undoing you

reimagining you into

the no thing

end of your worlds

by undigested indigernious










chapter 1: bug out bag


i keep some verbs

in a bag 

cornered with care 


in a cranny

in a dark space

with no lock

packed for days when 

there are no more words

only empty slate tinted skies

dull colored birds

properly pecking

wobbling woefully without

sound or dreams of flight

grounded in nonreality

the wrong conversations

picked at without pluck

undigested reposted

scraps of paper hope 

glued to tomorrow lightly 

made giddy in discovering

its never tomorrow

i keep the door closed

on the cloistered verbs 

hermetic no dust light or 

clearly defined exit

evaporated verbiage can turn

vaporous occasionally 

imploding passersby


used to soothe a bruise

Ak’s where flyswatters will do

most of us are mostly bruise

or some alternate

rarely transcendent shade of 


these verbs are banked


under or for my protection

i won’t let them kill me but

they been asking about you

licking their vowels like sore gums

slugs waiting to be

triggered to & beyond tongues

sidelined verbs don’t respect borders

dislike being ordered by others

draw their own boundaries

carry razors & double-sided axes

cut to the heart of a fact

ticky ticky boom like that 

pray they don’t run away

carrying your brothers’ eyes howling 

at nights that keep forgetting stars

or fall from your sister’s mouth 

crying a new world slowly 

so as not to startle the

old one refusing to die quickly

or jump unexpected dancing 

from an old ladies’ lips

loading & cocking a sawed off

“is it evil when they kill us”

why is civility sitting here

with a closed mouth

hands cramped from

twisting rope

syllables rumble

with one another in

closed craniums

asking quietly why 

we don’t march further

than the simple words

confined & aligning 

with conferred constraint 

gathered on plazas with permits

allowed to engage in

euphemistic explanations

about tomorrow

while offering

fogged frames 

for what didn’t 

happen yesterday

in logic composed in constantans

impossible to make sense

unless you think like

a stopped sink 


the inevitability of spilling over

scalding like hot grease on 

a raw soul like the sound

a load makes sliding into the revolver

at your temple held by the 

assailant hollering 

no guns allowed

before he blows your brains out

something like that could leave you

with no words

unable to speak

you could hurl these at your

attacker or use them for an epithet

if you get caught like that

between freedom & the 

bullshit bullies say while

whipping your ass or

if you into cutting off

noses if you about boxing 

blind or agree to rules

of engagement

that confine you

to fighting with


in a fallout chamber


nukes & nuts


if you ever wake up

& be woke

need to bug out

grab them verbs

9.21.20/ an



sitting criss cross applesauce

at the freeway on ramp

visions exchanged for

spare change

a concrete triangle

pointed to the yellow line

dividing alsphalt

into direction

north south

east west

a blind mage

a basket of eyeballs

a cup with no change

visions exchanged for

spare change

sing song singing

no takers fast cars

driving off cliffs

on either

side of the triangle

divide pointing


the yellow line

sun set in smoky sky

obscuring horizons

no mind

no time

no change to spare

none made

save the mage

gathering the

cup & basket


turned dancing

then floating

above the

yellow line

an 10/09/20