Imamu Amiri Baraka
- Posted by pipebomb
- February 26, 2007
SPEAK TO ME THROUGH YOUR MOUTH
Speak to me through your mouth
Not the Daily Noose or Santa Claus’ fake animals
I see on television. Speak to me in my ears. Loud enough
For me to hear. Tell me what is the matter with us, why
We are sitting here being directed to Hell by Ugly greedy
Lying Zapalote, who claim you love them, that’s why they must
Kill us. Talk to me out of your own brain not the box of idiots
Whose eyes send odors through the tube, who have mastered the art
Of telling the Beast where we live, so we can wake up grinning
Tell me, look at me while you speak. Touch me to make sure we’re both here.
Ask me a question and I’ll ask you one.
Can we conversate for a minute
Promise you won’t call me an egotistical dribble of unlikely desire.
I won’t call you out your name. Call me through the windows of the evening.
Can you sing? Then do that. A song we both know. What about The Internationale?
You never heard of it?
You want to sing Past Time Paradise.? You’re not Stevie Wonder, are you?
Are you a friend or an enemy? My friend or my enemy. I’m a poet. I carry a
RAZOR in my vest. You know Langston Hughes. You love
Aime Cesaire. You can’t
Play baseball, but you can box. You have on blue. You are covered everywhere
with blue. Your eyes are indigo, are you a woman or a man.
Why didn’t I ask you before?
Before what? Is the door open to your heart? Can your lips play music?
Are your fi ngers somewhere close? Do I know you?
Have we ever met? How did you get there?
I’m here where I am for a long time. The window loves me. How can I see you?
You don’t care to see me? Why not? Ok, but still, speak to me
through your mouth.
I hope you’re not a priest or a detective.
Speak to me through your mouth
Not the Daily Noose or Santa Claus’ fake animals
I see on television. Speak to me in my ears. Loud enough
For me to hear. Tell me what is the matter with us, why
We are sitting here being directed to Hell by Ugly greedy
Lying Zapalote, who claim you love them, that’s why they must
Kill us. Talk to me out of your own brain not the box of idiots
Whose eyes send odors through the tube, who have mastered the art
Of telling the Beast where we live, so we can wake up grinning
Tell me, look at me while you speak. Touch me to make sure we’re both here.
Ask me a question and I’ll ask you one.
Can we conversate for a minute
Promise you won’t call me an egotistical dribble of unlikely desire.
I won’t call you out your name. Call me through the windows of the evening.
Can you sing? Then do that. A song we both know. What about The Internationale?
You never heard of it?
You want to sing Past Time Paradise.? You’re not Stevie Wonder, are you?
Are you a friend or an enemy? My friend or my enemy. I’m a poet. I carry a
RAZOR in my vest. You know Langston Hughes. You love
Aime Cesaire. You can’t
Play baseball, but you can box. You have on blue. You are covered everywhere
with blue. Your eyes are indigo, are you a woman or a man.
Why didn’t I ask you before?
Before what? Is the door open to your heart? Can your lips play music?
Are your fi ngers somewhere close? Do I know you?
Have we ever met? How did you get there?
I’m here where I am for a long time. The window loves me. How can I see you?
You don’t care to see me? Why not? Ok, but still, speak to me
through your mouth.
I hope you’re not a priest or a detective.
