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Blackness is innovation on a received form.
—DAWN LUNDY MARTIN The nerve of you, to think you could vesper hogs’ hooves into feast. That hymns could be coaxed into hip hop. That wool would kink & rope & lock into something resembling God. That you could stand the lash or the late shift without wilting, spirit legacy from the spaces between the words, speak in a voice that booms, not breaks. Hope. Fix your face to smile like your teeth wasn’t butter yellow. Be better than bitter. Be roiling in joy. Be.
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