poem: while listenng to the cacophony at plainfield prison, indiana

POEM, WHILE LISTENING TO THE CACOPHONY AT PLAINFIELD PRISON, INDIANA by Self Born Allah (Asukile Bandele)

i vote for just one more song about the ghetto just one more in all its variations, you know: the set the 'hood the projects but make that shit real gruesome, k...id! vincent-price-rappin'- with-icey-mike-jackson gruesome matter of fact, we need nigga extras and extra niggas emerging from shallow graves to quincy jones' break beats, sun: THRILLER! or a grand exodus from the mausolems of malfeasance we need not browbeat ghetto inmates in this song for wanting to get High as they get by: its a sign of discontent they just haven't realized that god is NO THING we need just one mo' betta blues song, y'all to pontificate our fiendish predicament and not be falling for no mo' okey-dokes, joe let's crucify dime-bag entrepreneurs to their woodgraiin steering wheels and loop that scene indefinitely until we're jolted from catatonic complacency fuck it let's get some formerly ghetto'd jews and italians to show us how to scheme our way out the ghetto 'cause doowop and bebop didn't work and Motown only made a select few mobile, who have recently come crashing back into us as burnt out divas smashing into closed cadillac doors when there should have been forgiveness yeah, we singing unsung heroes and sheroes in this song and giving madd props to hip-dified country bumpkins for their clandestine activity of smuggling negro spirituals up north hidden away in southern slang that preserved our warrior linguistics yeah, one no' 'gin for that definitive ghetto melody packaged in easily affordable box sts that must be blasted from all audio contraptions available we need post mortem tracks produced written and arranged by curtis mayfield and nina simone so we can drive by mississippi goddamn as we keep on pushing withe sassy intelligence provided by lefteye featuring muddy waters sophstication some primal voodoo shit that white cats like godsmack can appreciate: 'cause we need serenity some native slum rattle and hum that'll resuscitate the native tongues and have everyone speaking in sacred tongues directly to ONE let's mix donny hathaway's ghetto with too short's and rakim's and to demonstrate the blind can lead the blind and that visual sight has little to do with insight we'll have stevie wonder and ray charles hitting the road, jack harmonizing about village ghetto land with wu-tangs's gza opening each show with another victim of the ghetto i'm telling you this the shit the last hurrah ghetto song Listen billie holiday and eryka badu warning us of dangerous strange fruit swinging from treeless street corners corners that have always been either urban country clubs or training ground for martyrs and ghetto supa stars this ghetto serenade will be our sonic conlave hosted by robert johnson: master of the crossroads there we'll tap slowgrind and breakdance our way "out of our constrictions" with moves that defy all laws of physics we'll learn to define our music by hijacking the language and escape from the epistemological plantations of proper english this song must be perpetual continuous and loud as possible....

check out the book, Kultural Eunuchs, now available at https://www.createspace.com/3436089