henry 7. reneau, jr.

this poem is my Black voice  → → →   

any resemblance to a person , or persons , living or dead
is not an echo

→ → →  but the pressure point by which all things
                pivot  → → →   

[a fulcrum] , as in e pluribus unam , but in[di]visible    

the weight of just a discarded sliver of existence
on the cosmic scale , a dread

that rests its wide haunches in my lap                    
, is insignificant , but

profoundly and destructively consequential
in the now

if i am free , why does it feel so small ? so

                                                    in[di]visible 

→ → →  is not an emotion
but           a state of be-ing 

                                                    on the hem of society
                                                    : a Negro problem 

is a purple echolalia of bruises 

                                                    Black and blue[s] from within   

is a decay- / ing                           an atrophied momentum 
that retards all we wish to do / acquire /   or overcome , as if

discombobulated , and spun into the gyre
of a maggot’s hunger

                                                    race– / ism  → → →

like you know a thing by how it is itself on the inside

                                         a traditional
                                         a cultural
                                         a legislated

absence of our presence   a redaction
                                         of worth   [⅗ of . . .]

                                                          the whole  → → →
                                                          minus the sum/ some

the exclusionary distancing
of post-racial                                → → →  away from 

a further that seems forever
farther . . .                                                

and we mitigate as if turning consequence
over in our palms  → → →

                                               like we had been in great danger
                                               and were maybe still in it

until the air is made of trepidation   [mud and bone]  
and there’s nothing else to breathe

                                           as if
                                           we were incrementally

                                           be-ing e-race-d  → → →

‡‡

HENRY 7. RENEAU, JR. writes words of conflagration to awaken the world ablaze, an inferno of free verse illuminated by his affinity for disobedience & a barb-wired conviction that prequels the spontaneous combustion that blazes from his heart, phoenix-fluxed red & gold, like a discharged bullet that commits a felony every day, exploding through change is gonna come to implement the fire next time. He is the author of the poetry collection, freedomland blues (Transcendent Zero Press) and the e-chapbook, physiography of the fittest (Kind of a Hurricane Press.) His work is published in Superstition Review; TriQuarterly; Prairie Schooner, Notre Dame Review; Punt Volat; The Ana; and Oyster River Pages. His work has also been nominated multiple times for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net.