A Very Strange Tribe
I’m sorry. I refuse to vibe
with your arrogance. Your attempts to demean me
into non-silence. I refuse to speak
to people who claim they understand indigenity
and then start with suggestification, and projection,
and inanity that drives me up the wall.
You think that makes me lose my mind;
well, it makes my sense of participating in life
grow calm,
and slow,
and lazy.
I do not care if you’ve got all the claim in the world
to intelligence, and science, and high-minded integrity;
where does it come from?
That’s what I want to know, quite frankly—
who left you within hearing range
of pretending to be some bizarre form of
high and mighty?
Are you for real
or are you some sad, lonely person’s beautiful overkill
of trying very hard to scare me?
I deal in both
the personal and professional
and the almighty
indulgences of a very, very precarious insanity
that you live in:
I am only creole and indigenous,
and as fucking brilliant as any kind of
glorious, living day.
How you spend it
is how you break free
of what has been left behind:
a very curious case of
anthropology.