“i’m a man who believes i died 20 years ago and
—malcolm x, el hajj malik el shabazz
i live like a man who is dead already. i have no fear whatsoever
of anybody or anything.”
harlem sunday 3:08pm
12mile perhour wind soft outta thesouthwest.
a hazy sunday afternoon on harlemz upper westside.
nagging dirtgray mist hangzover henryhudson parkway near
the 125th street exit where a rustbrown amerikan pitbull waznt quite
quick enuf bolting into a sprint uv traffik skreaming tirez
burntrubber akrid in nostrilz stompedbrakez failing
bending eye & ear to krunching bone broke
in thehotblood & dyingyelp
punkchuating harlemz
sunday afternoon.
a football field length east on 125th street
a disheveled drunk slowwalkz the kobblestone
& tossez an empty winebottle into weedz klinging to
ivy grownup on thewood iron tressel at the
interborough rapid transit stayshun
there at 125th & broadway.
helluva day . . .
in blakkkkombat bootz
an exmarine jogz 2.4milez uphill to
3409 broadway where bruthamalcolmz
nascent organizayshun uv afrikanamerican
unity iz meeting in theaudobon ballroom.
itz a helluva sunday . . .
on theupper westside
i guess youd say
what kould make me feel this way my girl
talking ‘bout mygirl . . .
temptayshunz melodik
rokket frum storefrontz open
cardoorz & crakked secondfloor windowz
up & down broadway az yungbood doowoperz
hold down kornerz kopykatting davidruffin riffz / ohhhh
i guess youd say what . . .
brutha malcolm minister malcolm x el hajj
malik el shabazz left hiz hotelroom at thenewyork hilton late.
little sleep lastnite. betty & thekidz safety
trubling hizmind / him knowing
death be stalking to murder.
death dealing thekardz.
a week totheday earlier
thefamilyz long island home fire
bombed / a molotovkoktail thrown into
thenursery where hiz & bettyz three daughterz
slept soundly. death insinuayting.
mayhem an incinerayting fire.
inside theaudobobon malcolmz faithful
followerz held down thekrowd readying them
for bruthamalcolm to address
them. inspire them. lead
them into they better
klearer selvz.
one helluva sunday . . .
aint it funnyhow no nypd kopz be
patrolling the audobonkrowd that Sunday.
everybody knew death be at thedoor.
the enemy waz inthehouse.
& with lafter malcolm
all/wayz greeted
hiz enemyz.
but this sunday seemed sumhow
outta kilter offstride outta time outta
therhythm & step uvthangz seen & unseen.
that sunday
doomzdayz klokk tikking
assassinayshun jolted akross
thewood floor at theaudobon
shotgunblasting two automatikz
barking
deathz sqeel in the ballroom.
death screeching.
death sighing.
3:30pm
malcolm
had stopped breathing
splayedout on theballroom floor
that hazy sunday.
that offkilter sunday.
that monday marked therize uv
theblakkartz moovment
leroyjones moved uptown to harlem
to bekum amiribaraka
in what brutha larryneal kalled
the aesthetik & spiritual sistuh
uv theblakkpower koncept
the blakkarts moovment
bruthamalcolm presaged it
at kingsolomon baptistchurch in detroit
12 april 1964
in hiz ikonik
theballot or thebullet gift to us.
listen to thepeepl in
thepews on that day.
Feel the vibrayshunz
listen to the speech
listen listen listen
to thepeepl.
deathsunday had tokum.
hoover kouldnot let this messiah live.
innerstand the prescience uv malcolmz wordz
here the difference between civilrightz & thekall to
movement akshun.
understand how assassinayshunz
frum 1963 to 1969 kutyu off frum your goodsense. frum
your aktivprezence. your betterknowing.
your rite to innerstand & defend
your rite to be free. your
huemanity az your
birthrite.
listen listen listen
& then move with thevibratory sense
yourgod—not theirz—gave yu.
eniyan dudu e dide duro — blakkpeepl stand tall
eniyan dudu e jide, e yo — rizeup & rejoyce
eniyan dudu e m’okan yin duro — keep your mindz still
asiko nlo, ojo mbo — for the time iz mooving on
brutha malcolm took
them niggerbulletz to wakeup
yourlistening to rayzup
yourtruly who yu be.
elder ossiedavis so eloquently spoke
to bruthamalcolmz identity:
—a prince—our own black shining prince!—who didn’t
hesitate to die, because he loved us so.
that friday in detroit 315 dayz before
assassinayshun sunday put us onto theword
theballot or thebullet.
theword aint changed. aint
nothing changed.
listen . . .
