Dry conga echo left off Nostrand cut down Ralph Avenue to Mama W’s old dudes stoop sitting in coveralls Miller Hi-Life in brown bags 2 Indians & 2 South Boston-Norfolk homeboys talking about curried goat & yard birds to come. They had me dead from the corner Black boy in white crown to Converse. They pointed to the basement’s door open to any breeze
Down there kid is what you’re looking for packed door & corridor Blacks
Ago Ago/ Ago Elegba nso yanga
from Bembe In Bed-Stuy 1992
Poet & author Reginald Dwayne Betts on GUNPOWDER + a MATCH
Talk about straight raw. This joint is dope, in the way that you hear something that is undiluted, that ain’t trying to be something else, that has tapped into some kind of essence. What’s telling though, for real, is there is a range in these poems-check out the complex and investigating tone of “Dream in Which I Am Black Man” and then go to what is “e-Flat Boogie” which might be one of the freshest and honest takes on being a youngun and digging a pretty girl ever. These are the kinds of poems that make you believe in Redman’s mantra “ ****a Billboard I’m a Bullet on the Block.”
Alan W. King & others on GUNPOWDER + a MATCH
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