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The Brooklyn Rail

NOV 2020

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NOV 2020 Issue
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Mr. Brown-Guy Falls To Leave

just outside the town of Little Falls, Minnesota, up a ahead the sun is setting behind me I see pill-bottle shaped clouds, thinner closer farther as I approach the horizon driving at high speed I am a nigger with a surface as I approach ensconced in my white white speeding Eldorado Cadillac 2002 last of its kind now it is now suddenly the vehicle flags fags sags ailing niggling ailing coughing up some mechanical revelation I‘ve been expending ignored heard before in my heart of hearts of heart simultaneously the clouds betray the sky and rain begins to fall in slow-mo as if it is happening in another story the lightning all yellow heightening the thunder in the distance always in the distance like an ache in the teeth of 'eart louder smaller 'neath the skin 'long the 'ip of road 'ite a a a a a two-lane highway crammed in on either side 'tween deciduous all ablaze red orange glory yellow red red on one side tall hairy pines several species on the other sandy soil for all new old growth fast food container varietals at their bases bits o' chunks of of if if rubber wire trash ash plastic cigarette butts beer cans roadside essentials I I inadvertently spill the thought I was folding (a thought I fought I I III I I I) now rain full of urine urine full of yellow to to veil o’ liquid plangent falling slashing blinding who? me? me? what? well, more lightning so what to do, do i do? 

i ii I swerve, I swerve i swerve again and again and again 'voiding thinking i i i am into catastrophe lose control blown tire, forehead hard 'gainst the dash bloodied dome beak lip shin cock pussy i step wobble stumble outside the vehicle to to flag down another catastrophe to to hitchike 'neath the shivering inky sky negro darker getting darker getting to know itself better getting to know myself i stumble each passing moment the flash the piss of a  a passing motorist from whom i i receive an assortment of violent vehicular adorations at each celebratory flashing what is love but a vacation

the the next flashing the next motorist severs my thumb from my hand after another another vehicle removes my right arm from its shoulder my my body spins in response blood spurting following the arc of my wounding the next driver misses stops backs up side-swipes my my left, crushing my side more spinning and spurting i am one large appendage on a totter a remainder aimless and armless attentive to what can only be a kind of love and reverence in the form of blind obedience in the form of violence after violence for I am Mr. Brown-Guy and I am a very handsome man whose attractiveness outshines the Pleiades my skin highly complected the color of the Sudan. My face, the best side a viscera crimson. My dimpled chin a gashing yellow leaving the rest of my body to a riotus war of pulchritudinous hues from lime green testicles to Kyhmer rouge I am struck head on by a large fast-moving piece of metal perhaps an SUV better a tractor trailer whatever I am tossed into the inky sky various parts in various directions 

as i hurtle up through the ink through the rain up up high through the night enough of me of what is left of me can see lit up in the distance the Little Falls police station the new hospital and the twenty four hour 7 eleven as well as the a bridge right below me and below the bridge a river flowing into which i cannot see my reflection instead i see upon the the the bridge’s pale green railing several gold framed photographs images of my of my of my family estranged as if as if the railing was the mantle of some cozy fireplace in some living room in someone else’s anyone's but yours truly’s imagination definitely not the I in I in I bleed profusely from more than one orifice arresting it is a blessing using myself my handsomeness a bulwark against feeling perhaps it is pain it is pain perhaps it is pain anything whatever against change against sense I fall landing inelegantly but certainly various pieces hither and yon to lie on the road the concrete in the rain the bulk of me plummeting down to smash into the bridge, then eventually the river

and as i float down held close by the freezing waters my body dissolves into many colors as many colors as there are colors from lime green testicles to vermillion beard to sky blue feet to wenge heart to yellow blossom hips to coal black brain to white white smile.

Contributor

Pope.L

Pope.L (b. 1955, in Newark, NJ) is a Chicago-based visual and performance-theater artist and educator who makes culture out of contraries. Recent solo exhibitions include member: Pope.L 1978–2001 at the Museum of Modern Art and Choir at the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York

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The Brooklyn Rail

NOV 2020

All Issues