Black Man Pinch
Performance at the Barbican for Suckerpunch Boom Suite with Nitrobeat

Eenie meenie mine mo
if he hollers let him go
if he hollers let him go
let him go
let him go
leave a black mans pinch
on his back, lynch his
dreams, stoke the fire
of his nightmares, place
sensors under his childrens
tongue so they second guess his
existence as well as their own
rub their digital traces
across your gums type
B, exhibit he, it, they, noname
if he hollers let him fall
season his manhood with
fear and stunt his grow
whistle down black boy lane
and walk his spine
studs perform best under
a watchful eye
if he hollers let him go
while he tries to see and not see
himself in Jonson, I try not
see myself in Garland
the shoes never fitted to begin with
and they werent my colour, telling me
real negros dance only suckers punch
and this world is a steel bag
held in the hands of a dirty man
so you to believe fists can make a dent
that the money doesnt exist before its spent
for I am not my brothers keeper
I spit bars while he sits behind them
so what do I tell the sun
be wary of native informers dressed as you do
be wary of foreign translators loving all that you do
if he hollers let him go
think on the sunlight that
caught the edge of his twists
pretend your not asleep on
his ceiling waiting for death
wishing you could lie over him
and take his place
he, they, its screaming for
im going to beat you for the world you say and more,
hold back because love passes
between you and you already feel
a failure, for the world doesn't
show the same patience
You want me to give
something to cry for?
if he hollers let him go
if I have the sun will the world let it catch its breath
will I catch its last breath
I was there for the first
will the sun die in the
same splendour it was made
both an object and an objection
an offence sitting on a
flacid tongue of contempt
cottons origins, my _____
there is a hurt that passes between us
a blame that shifts hands in our glance
where am I in the splendour
of your spread
in the bristle of your sway
you speak in mirrors
and I speak on erasure
im your sister/influencer
only till I open my mouth
mad at the sun for doing what it does best
shining a light on ugly and bunning your rass
then you blame it for getting angry
for becoming more than a neck
for illuminating what was
believed to be buried
but truth that is hidden in deception
can only exist in shallow graves
where do you speak with me?
if he hollers let him go
if he hollers let him go
for if not, he'll flay his desire into being
tighten his arms to burst the pinch
stretch his skin over the canvas
use the redeadtion
and paint futures within futures
with the muscle and bone
with the sugar and coal
living and looking out
while I write my own narrative