Excerpt From Dated Emcees
Excerpt From Dated Emcees
Excerpt From Dated Emcees
chinaka hodge
dated emcees
on a fall evening in the early aughts old uncle rap
pulls up his gut, inspects the waistband of his track
pants, catches his reflection in a dull passing train,
decides it is time for honors, decrees let us throw a party,
let us invite some children, tell them of the days golden
and silvering our hair, someone, book the venue,
roll the linoleum, rig a streetlight, polish some statues
and it was done.
bet, so, first fall in the new millennium, im invited
to rock for the legends at this party. im eighteen,
gangly and in an impromptu cipher of washed up
rappers, finger-dead can holders, uprocking on
inflamed knees, asking what to do with the next decade,
these medallions, felt caps, izods, really, still izods? okay
sure whatever, old dudes rocking old fits in new york on this
the twenty-third day of autumn smoking loosies
and spliffs outside the stage door of symphony space.
you know. high. art.
nobody does todays mathematics, the last night of hip hop
as they know it and they dont even know it, college drop
out aint dropped yet, auto-tune forthcoming, common
got a record out everyone hates; its a circus of miserable
electric clowns.
so okay i shit you not the first nword to size me up
appraise me as sex-able if perhaps groupie, knows
im too young for his music, probably never heard
of the guy, definitely dont recognize him, is someone
title track
no jazz men left: i date emcees,
tries to rehabilitate them,
into honest, working stiffs
i foot the bills, handle
the losses they come
loud leave softly
fall short break
daylight
gone
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knockoff messiah
slanged cracked commandments and saw
no honey, more problems
whole borough recoiled,
stillborn blacks, mourn genius slain
the ease of your laugh
the cut of your jib
unique command of the room
truthfully biggie
what about yous small
no not legend, not stature
real talk just lifespan
yo, who shot ya kid
nypd stopped searching
shrugged off negro death
well, we scour the sky
we mourn tough, recite harder
chant you live again
of all the lyrics
the realest premonition
rings true: youre dead. wrong
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