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    Americana

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      The projects rise like broken bones toward mars

      Everything is brown in Philadelphia

      Even the boy next door who spoke as I was

      Getting in the car to head back to Houston.

      I had the same luck with the lottery

      I missed winning seven dollars by one number.

      New York!

      Herds of humanity

      Graze on street corner slop and ride in the bellies

      Of silver worms beneath city gutters

      Street people are ragged and unfashionably stinky.

      Everyone else is fashionably ragged.

      “Andy” sells me a beaded sweater

      off an old lady’s dead shoulders.

      A roguish Puerto Rican painter copies

      A Robert Colescott painting as his own black creation.

      Got all dressed up to go to the theatre in Harlem.

      Got there stinky and hot--Harlem,

      Who bombed it?

      Noise all night long in Brooklyn.

      No ugly people live in New York

      Everyone is Cafe' au lait. Tall boy with five inch hair

      Sits wide legged on the sub in baggy trousers.

      His throat is stiff with defiance, But his dark

      Eyes linger in mine for a moment.

      Everything is for sale in New York

      Even a hug from daddy long legs.

      All Over the World

      Nigger the same

      Nigger the same

      Nigger the same

      Harlem, Phila,

      Houston

      Nigger the same--

      Shuffling feet

      Going nowhere

      Buying everythang.

      Nigger the same

      Nigger the same

      Nigger the same

      Me, you,

      White folks too

      All the same

      I Want it All

      I want to be a crack salesman

      The biggest in the world

      I want a crack house

      Bigger than New York

      In every room, a shootin' gallery

      and a buck naked ho'

      Grinding on my Hollywood beds.

      I want to wrap my body

      In 14 karat gold.

      I want to buy my Momma

      A sea otter coat

      My dad a penguin-skin suit.

      I want my 'Royce trimmed in gold.

      I want to be bad, so bad

      I hook the devil on my shit,

      Turn earth into hell and

      Hell inside out.

      Then when I die, I'll go down

      And kick the devil in his booty.

      I want it all.

      Future Shock

      ****

      There is no Answer

      Is there racism

      In space?

      Or is space one color, black?

      Is it possible to be killed

      With hate?

      Is it possible to be hated

      With love?

      Red is the color of both passions.

      Is there love

      Between dying?

      Or is loving the reason we die?

      Is writing the beginning of poetry?

      Or is poetry the clicking

      of tongue against decaying teeth?

      Is there music

      That cannot be played

      Because it will be the beginning

      Of our own silence?

      Does the value of words end

      When you speak them?

      When you say, "I love you.

      Is it still true?

      Does life really end

      With death?

      Or like the mad dog eating his heart--

      Is death the beginning?

      Starry-Eyed War

      We need twice as many weapons as we got.

      We need weapons that blow up weapons

      When they fall into enemy hands.

      We need weapons shaped like cucumbers and tomatoes,

      To kill all the vegetarians.

      We need weapons shaped like anuses

      To kill all the punks.

      We need weapons. Oh yes we do.

      We need weapons shaped like vaginas,

      To render the Russians impotent.

      We need weapons shaped like David Bowie, Michael Jackson,

      To kill all the teen freaks.

      We need weapons.

      We need twice as many as we got.

      We need weapons shaped like toasters

      Blenders

      Waffle Irons

      Can Openers

      Corn cob cookers

      Salmon poachers

      Electric egg slicers

      Dildo Teasers,

      To turn dark communist housewives

      Into beautiful capitalist blondes.

      We need weapons shaped like hog maws

      Chitterlings Sweet potatoes

      Aretha Franklin

      Bobby Blue Bland

      Gold Cadillacs

      Ranch-style houses

      To kill all the black folks

      We need weapons shaped like fire hydrants

      To kill stray dogs.

      We need weapons.

      Got to have 'em!

      Can't live without 'em.

      We need weapons shaped like Thurgood Marshall,

      To zap all liberals and Humanists, and cat lovers.

      We need weapons shaped like the Holy Ghost

      To get rid of welfare lovin' Bishops.

      We need weapons!

      We need weapons!

      Lord have mercy, we need weapons!

      By Ron Reagan

      Aliens *

      *The Movie

      White folks can whip anything

      Orange

      Heat and dust bathe me. I glow.

      My skin peels away like an orange

      Under a child's awkward fingers.

      My hair lies on the floor like clumps of black spiders.

      My long yellow teeth glitter like gold.

      I am death. My decision-makers lie in cement bunkers

      Under me. 'Come out and see me," I shout. No one comes.

      It takes a brave son-of-a-bitch to face me.

      The White House is singed orange and lies silent.

      No one faces my battery of microphones to answer me.

      The Russian mother waits for Chernenko. He is cooked

      And cooled in his grave--He will say nothing

      To any of Us simpletons, Us pawns,

      Us welfare mothers, Avon ladies, prostitutes,

      Us middle managers, Us guitar pickers, Us poets--

      I step back from the wall, my shadow stays.

      I am naked. I see the imprint of my striped garment

      On my chest. So powerful was Einstein's bomb

      I sung Glory Hallelujah! I saw Jesus walking on water!

      Water--I sip and vomit air. My intestines stroke my spine.

      I tell you, I am death!--though my Mother named me Hope.

      I feel through my cunt man's hot ideology sucking my bones.

      I see Out my window, and through my father's bones,

      Running Jew, monkey grass, and in a fit of faith—

      ¬A sunflower pushing through his rib cage,

      Even as radiation clicks in the air

      And me, I peel away.

      Black Christmas

      And they came,

      Three wise men

      Bearing gifts to

      A black Christ

      Child who lay

      In the burned

      And broken ruins

      The place we

      Know it as

      South Side Chicago.

      These wise men

      In cyan suits,

      Shades, fedoras, walking

      Canes tapping on

      The sidewalk,

      Came bearing horse,

      Crack, grass, wine

      To the ebony

    &nbs
    p; Christ sucking milk

      Laced with sperm-

      'Cause his Momma

      Hooked for money

      In alleyways on

      Her knees. But

      This Christ grew

      Anyway despite his

      Gifts. He became

      A leader, spoke

      Like thunder striking.

      Called called called

      All God's children

      To worship black

      Bones, black cats

      Black trees, black

      Crosses and commune

      With black wine

      And black crackers

      Every blessed seventh

      Day and sing

      Black work songs.

      Survival Technique of the Black Homo-Sapiens

      I spend all of my days

      Trying not to be a victim

      Of my black heart and your

      phosphorous white genocide.

      In my heart's four chambers

      Lie grenades.

      Watch me pull pins!

      Sept. 19, 2057

      Nothing is Different/Everything is Rearranged

      In this funny land the scientists have concocted Chickens grow on trees,

      Strawberries are the size of watermelons, Watermelons hatch pigs,

      A side of bacon comes from the bull, A side of beef from his better half,

      Milk is made from the honey bee Sugar from a skunk's teeth,

      Snakes can swallow elephants Because elephants are the size of porcupines.

      Your eyes are even with your tail bone-¬Mooning is no longer against the law.

      We are all on one level-¬Two feet-ten and a half.

      Green mold grows in sunny spots in the kitchen. Rainwater will dissolve a head of hair.

      Turkeys recite the alphabet--Z to A. Gorillas live in condos.

      Defecating gives you the rush that making love used to-¬Ex-lax is now an aphrodisiac.

      In beauty pageants a girl's ass must match a zebra's Flank for flank, stripe for stripe.

      Men are judged on the fullness of their 38 d-cups And their sweet milk.

      Eating cheese causes AIDS.

      The cure comes from the anus of the kamikaze terrorist

      Whose will to die is so powerful

      It lifts an ordinary Joe from sickness.

      Blues singers are out of business

      'Cause love is a signed contract--

      No more of that chest thumping heart stuff.

      A heavy dose of valium takes care of that.

      Children hatch themselves inside women’s wombs

      Birth themselves from her mouth

      Quickly before she can bite off their feet.

      Life Insurance is really that-¬The more you have, the longer you live.

      Your agent sells you a policy

      So he can buy a bigger one

      Nothing is different/Everything is rearranged.

      About the Author

      Charles W. Harvey is a native Houstonian and a graduate of the University of Houston. He has studied fiction under the guidance of Rosellen Brown and Chitra Divakaruni at U of H. He has studied poetry under Joyce James and Cynthia MacDonald. In 1987, Charles was a 1st place prize recipient of PEN/Discovery for Cheeseburger, which went on to be published in the Ontario Review. In 1989 Charles Harvey was awarded the Cultural Arts Council of Houston Grant for Writers and Artists. Also in 1989 he was a finalist in the MacDonald's Literary Achievement Awards. Charles has been published in Soulfires, Story Magazine SHADE, High Infidelity, The James White Review, and others. He is the author of the novels The Butterfly Killer and Promise Goodday.

      *****

     

      Discover Harvey and Other Great Writers@

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      Boy 4 Higher

      ****

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