Poem for My Lady: The Black Woman At The Point Of Production/ A Scientific Socialist's Approach-By James Ashanti

The milkyway's spirl slidingboard trackless feeling when we clasp-cling
to better penetrate middle core's wisdom
-but men forget-

So here we are-socialsim more fragmented
than a wall of fun-house mirrors
radical journals not much more than
jism-splattered exercies in patriacrhy-

I seek rapacious passion beyond ideology
where is the woman's touch?

I absolve myself of the ruthless farce which shuns
that precious other self-more human and wonderful
My Lady be sensual pell-mell production line
of electirc heartbeats that rumble in bellowing climax
her personal inventory reads: warror/comrade
                                                friend/peer
                                                comrade
                                                fuck buddy

Caring for her has me me schizoid
svelte brilliance in her amber flesh be season of bliss
but...it's her whip of a mind that's a talisman
against boredom and weakness

or perhaps it's that dyad of nimbus around her eyes
breaklight guiding prayers in smile's direction?
Opulent hip for pillow
and premise firm tits as solace
when demigod
whose motherload of bullshit rhetoric
operates en passant-dissallowing people-

Like by all means
whealth's proper distribution
is an emotional depth of character
which manipultes two personalities
into wayward union of opposites
the material basis of happiness
cannot be whole

without this pretty woman who allows me
to grow with and inside her

which is to say the future can be a loving trip
which is to say also
I just loves me some dialectical brown sugar!

James Ashanti