Turntables
Turn
Tables
Make you wheel and come again
Pull it, back. Back...
Back to front
promise of possibilities
birthed in beginnings. Back
to the not-so-distant-future.
In this dimension
Massa bows down to slave, wave
hands in the air of admiration.
Corporate cockroaches are sprayed like Raid
on tracks. Fatally
hit by the rhythm, the rebel.
A Zulu nation of new millennium guerillas
slaughter colonial sons and daughters on wax.
Out in the street, they call it murder….
Buck shots ring warrior’s cry. Sing
freedom on the one,
two, one, two, one, two.
Resurrecting windblown whispers of harmony
from the grave,
melodic muted memory. Martyred
voices come back Nina Simone
Come back Alice Coltrane
Come back Mahalia Jackson
Pray we remember
Resume their purposed attack within boom clap.
Our words
penetrate rapid fire, spark
semi-automatic heartbeats to pump
in unison with mathematical precision.
Beg invisible ties connect parallel worlds
like dots.
In this dimension,
roles reverse in perfect meter.
Cymbals crash like thunder.
Bring the noise
reverb legacies of pain.
Shatter glass ceilings
to fall like white reign.
unwaogwugwu 