Delineation for Dummies

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Delineation without nationhood
is cosplay. Delineation without

nationhood is COSPLAY, is cosplay,
is cosplay, IS COSPLAY. They love

them red, white, and blue apples,
falling from Empire’s ripped garments.

They pray to colonial fathers to
design modern ships, to craft oppression,

to place bodies in the bottom of
ideology, to construct platforms

of decay, to wage unjust wars, or
to spend tax dollars on better bombs. 

They aim to satiate their bellies with
hate and xenophobia, salivating for

validation OR approval, frowning at
them other hues, with the same eyes,

lips, hips, cultures, and histories. They
want Uncle Sam’s hugs. Living on

the knees is a thing now. They don’t
mind. They lick boots. They sneer,

flash screwed faces. Them reparations
checks call their names. Just bodies

fighting for better masters, shucking,
jiving, and praying for hostile soil

to infect their DNA, washing their
faces with brutality. They want daddy’s

love. They need daddy’s love. They
abandon them revolutionary hopes

and dreams to be like broken Americans,
struggling for ways out, for ways

into dysfunction. Embracing Polluted
Creed and his pursuit to swell his

fat pockets is religion. They are unlike
Kwame Ture. Not Pan-Africanist.

Not Socialist. No power. Candace
Owens-types. Or Tim Scott’s ideological

children. No resistance in their bodies.
Just impulses to bathe in bloody

soil. They are humble inhabitants
of neo-colony, looking for capitalism’s

favor, enjoying familiar blues, and
laughing as they repair Massa’s

burning House.

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