Bending the Knee

“Inhale and Nurse”, you are my curse.

I spend more time bent down in prayer

Than I do writing ev’ry verse.

Your elixir is what I wear.

Oh, I sup at your font, seeking

A hotter kind of flamed baptism—

I kneel when the font is leaking;

My lips spread wide, my mouth a prism.

Father, if this is sin, if black;

Then call me your “Little Negro”

And hop aboard my mind’s one track.

Tickle my tongue and my ego.