Black blood shimmers gold. And black blood, in still water, is a private wake, silhouetted.

-@donnie_moreland
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Black Talk

The nectar, in the yoke of his lips,

like the odor of the first mother.

Her sweat, as she prayed in the belly of The Congo.

The waters of Jah, her contribution for the war effort.

A chieftains bucket is never weighted to hold even a drop,

so she carried what she could

beneath her tongue,

across creation, so that he may, in our sound, bless

her offerings.

Confidences in a spoiled grin.

Or talk, for short.

Nobody knows my name

Black blood,

like honey,

sticks hard beneath the boots of burgundy, gin soaked undertakers,

but most strongly does it glue to the teeth of N.W.A’s daydreaming about 

clean toilet water, after processing.

Black blood, 

like oil,

Is priced only if the fields are bare.

Black blood is tired blood.

Old blood.

And yet,

black blood whenever spilled,

patterns a map of the maroons whose bones,

decayed,

trace a sword along the badlands.

Black blood is what washes the red from the bonds, unveiling an erotic blue.

Black blood shimmers gold.

And black blood, in still water, is a private wake, silhouetted.

Black blood is a dark matter.

Alas, this scripture is never written primarily in ink.

Donnie Denkins Moreland Jr is a Minnesota based youth violence prevention educator and writer. Donnie holds a Master’s Degree, in Film Studies, from National University and a Bachelor’s Degree, in Sociology, from Prairie View A&M University. Donnie has contributed to Black Youth Project, A Gathering of the Tribes and Sage Group Publishing.