(the los angeles insurrection 1992)
(warren wilson reporting for channel 5)
“the whole day was dark dusk
and smoke
a marscape of fire and sirens
we had gone down slauson
past the swap meet
toward crenshaw
where bands of wild brothas
who had been all night without sleep
ran beltless and shirtless
some sitting spellbound
in the infancy of their politics
cloudless evening of horrified helicopters
zagging transmitting faces in the blue clock sky
normandy lay bludgeoned face down
glass everywhere its eyes pierced
budlong, a strip of places to hide and plan
it confused the starling
the heartbeat air in the city’s wild throat
open buildings agape with sirens
debris resting where it landed
we ignored the traffic lights
we drove on the wrong side of the streets
a policeman was crying
in the flight of law and order
plumes of smoke
blocking the vision of god
it was war
war the policeman’s father had sat silent about
late at night war that made him smoke
and court cancer
the ports were still
the authorities left the blacks to destroy the city
leave los angeles
leave han noi
the policeman in the shadow
in the 37th hour of his shift
his radio a shrill lauguageless haze
let his memory stop recording
turned his gun on himself
and the kids
restless listening to the tumult
had waited since the womb for fire
fathers in prison calling chanting
“this is it this is it this is it”
implored their ragged sons to riot
“fire is free
gasoline siphoned
make the summer cauldron
and remember me”
they raked against the prison bars
participated how they could
refused to eat while the city burned
screamed in ecstasy from cell to cell
other boys were lean by attrition
their mothers
half endorsed by welfare
manning the windows at each
apartment building like beautiful sentries
saw their sons ignore the citywide bans
it was mutual disrespect
curfews and riots negotiating over history
new language saying there is no proper way to speak
to ignite the city
it said shoot back and burn first
take take take take take take take
you blueblackboys
electric in the wide avenues
in phoenix
los angeles was an allegation
a rumor of inconveniences ahead
an eerie silence in the beautiful desert motif malls
the television stations there implored the citizens
to shop to work to write poems to conserve water to pretend
long beach lay at the edge of fire
the blue projects like small prisons
in direct half moon
the word came down atlantic like night
a population of faceless blacks
needing direction
compton line smoldering
the muslim mayor biding his time
the phone company cut his service
would not allow him access to his soldiers
too many blacks near freeway onramps
everyone greasing themselves for the frenzy
the black nationalists in full recruit
in broken swahili saying
“here is a better way
we warned tom bradley and the world
niggas will be heard motherfuckerrrrrrr
each colonized negro tonight
make your bitterness count”
the affluent inglewood was an allegory
a sudden slang tore its trimmed westside
going west out the 405 toward LAX
then landing in the palm of that black city
the blacks along the manchester thoroughfare
heavy brothas with quick hands
moving from their small clean homes
the thousands of bus stops at every glance
their eyes looked back searching each motorist
litter drifted waiting torun
darkness fell full fluid with the streetlights shot out
“throw fire”
he told his son
“remember the smell”
one kid hurls a gasoline bomb
flames vine out of the store windows
they flower gold and red
he curses the koreans and the whites
flexes his muscles
spins in the delirium
how easy it was for him to belong that night
hurl a brick then sprint everywhere in endless energy
shirtless, holding their pants up
hundreds came mocking the sirens
block to block all speed looting the ralphs supermarket
27 hours now of brusque movement
dr. karenga’s message was in the streets like a rumor
multiculturalism and egalitarianism after war
reparations and revenge
demonstrate the distance
it wasblack and white and in flagrant disagreement
there was a crude understanding hid
in each brotha’s pocket like a knife
dr. cress welsing said “think well then act
consult the pan africanist soothsayers who
computer prophesy from 5th floor faculty offices”
prof. amen ra shrugged his 6 ft 8inch shoulders
said “i told you so” and cancelled his night classes
all the street linguists caucused and rapped their intent
“we go together like in uganda”
exclaimed dr. bede ssensalo
“we are the fire that burns the land”
chad nkansa assured
“ghana is in it too
the middleweights come at you!
let’s legislate an omen
aiyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
shadows of murderous negros panting
playing hide and seek
someone in an impala shoots off a flare
a thousand run and destroy the chevron station
a battalion of preachers stood in the advance screaming
“god is not dead!
god is not dead!
he is watching everyone of you”
and the riot went on
…..no electricity
just an occasional person sprinting from dark to dark
word is a few blocks over there are snipers
we hear the bullets stutter then wait
that’s where we stand
near at least a dozen fires
on some corner where the streets signs have been stolen
weary and not knowing what is to come
nor how to get home from here”
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