by Fred Moten
for a long time, the lotion stigma swirled
on the man who clothes me with a broken
world. I came when they called me. that
cotton rubbed me the wrong way all the
way inside over the course of time. way before
cotton sewn into the coat of the one
who clothes me. before I started clothing
them with paper. before cotton sewn into
their coats they curled up on flat boats
all the way back up the country. the beaded
strips of leather and cotton made me come
to myself when he called me and wrote me
on the one who clothes me. pour some water
on me. make coming matter cut and twirl
on me. the law of emulsion is always broke
on me. somebody pour some beautiful jute
on me. let her blow some horn on me. the man
who clothes me in my skin is gonna write
on me. your writing moves to stop on me.
someday they’re gonna curve this on a pearl
on me but now it’s time to go and I can’t wait
to get up out from here. it’s simple to stay furled
where you can’t live. for a long, long time I’ve
been wearing this other planet like a scar on me.
Last updated January 08, 2023