The First Black Fantasy

takes one mind and one mind’s eye. Desires an organ and hued

skin awned by thicket. First

song then

whetting stone where one kneels before her

articulation. She sees herself with irrepressible love, un-

conditional giving over and again giving.

Thinks elbow and hinges it, wonders mouth and

O’s her lips. The first Black fantasy

is incredulous: gentle, experimental,

figuring from thought to act—there, walk

she braces her heel, ankle intoning as bells.

Black Pornography

He is what sells, invisible till he un-garments, more noun than known, and

prays not to cramp in the cut. They make an animal of him, brute star swells

in spotlight.

Acting is so simple, he thinks, (abdominals lacunae in stage light) the easy

nature of playing this part. Scant dialogue scams his imperial frame—he is

so little all that he is.

I am one pure thing, he thinks. I am the one pure thing, he rethinks.

He knows what he’s playing at, occupies the role, and

watches all time his stroke. He would never do to his lover what

the director asks: full nelsons and unsanitary shifts of parts—anything

the camera wants.