Tyrone Williams

 

“my white… Negroid features”



Let x = tire chains

y, tire prints



                          For every =
                          , will be

He’s hers



                          that is “a black man
                          and his mama”



Given, a

               [square root]
               , a             a

               —qua—

               [steering committee



                                               toward Adrian Piper
                                                         Glenn Ligon…

 

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Diorama


Pre-modern


When their father died on the mountainside, the two boys, who had only hoped to discover, found their selves forced to settle for the flashlight and radio. Both were on all night. If nothing else, they could see each other and their immediate surroundings, however discrete and miserly the light. If nothing else, they could talk to one another and listen to the world ab extra, however laconic the pandemonium. Either would have been good--but both? Better than lightning or thunder.


Post-modern


Because the sun has burned off the last of the fog
you can see a bit more, a little farther. Look—
a lone coyote slinks into the underbrush. There—
that hawk-shaped hole in the sky, last shard of the night.
Mountain after mountain, and way over
there—that faint band, blue haze—that's the ocean.
Yes, the vistas reappear, just as I said.
That? That's just the household coughing up sleep—
That? Showers running in the walls—
music, I see, to your burning—I guess—ears.


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Copyright © Tyrone Williams 2007

 

 

 

 

 

Tyrone Williams teaches literature and theory at Xavier University in Cincinnati Ohio. He is the author of several chapbooks, including Musique Noir (overhere press, 2006). Recent poems appear in or are forthcoming from Hambone, Combo, Cincinnati Poetry Review, and fascicle. His book, c.c., was published by Krupskaya Books in 2002. New books are forthcoming from The Backwaters Press in 2007 and Omnidawn Press in 2008.