on black not cracking: an ode to cocoa, shea butter & olive oil
an elixir of life. like weird honey. like fresh milk. occasionally ubiquitous. like the round merchant reigning high and full of yellow-or-white might in the back of a beauty store his tiny kingdom only a little ways from the
fast-emptying shelves
selling jars of creamy crack on an indoor street so-and-so's 24 hour beauty an almost foreign country where these suppliers break no laws - there it stands. like a chapel outside a prison Jesus Christ Moisturized– lotion in each pierced hand waiting for his daughters
the many mistresses of a chemical master
to come one, come all, repent. accept their salvation.
there are cell walls serving as shelves tall, all sheathed in cleanest plastic. omnipresent. omni-
potent. they know as many dry fleshes and tender scalps as God himself does, in his holy workshop. now this is the good koolaid, the one good for your soul. only a promise is found here - here in the liquified angel patron saint of follicle preservation delivering you from evil. here: oil hand clinging to dark skin - butter warm on the palm - slippery near the brain - the very fountain of black youth - like moses & his ancient staff separating the new red sea - achilles with a prosthetic foot -
all you need is seven dollars and some silver coins in exchange for
a whole forever.
just seven dollars and some silver coins
for eternal life.
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