“The problem with jazz is miscegenation”?
Say I want purity, to be pure black,
Coloured to purge every bit of whiteness
From my innards, my psyche, my senses,
So that, if I failed, a motherfucker could
Smash me in the face with my trumpet,
Or let me fall like a comic book Capone,
Tasting black blood as it floods my mouth,
My throat slashed by another gangster.
Well, I’d be resurrectin’ that jive spiritual
Just to crucify its stupid ass!
True: I crave a cinematic albescence––
Like lightning rum scorching the throat,
Or napalm eating away superficial flesh,
Cannibalizing it down to the clean bone,
Or a high trumpet note as white as cocaine,
A kiss charging like acid through my dick,
Thanks to une parisienne as pale as New York,
Her dark hair falling in sheets around her
Like black shadow around an ivory flame,
