trembling 

spokes to splinters. 

forget the time together.

tender and burning.

let go.

​

i breathe memories into objects.

this rocking chair was a physical remberance of my grandfather. built to disassemble into 62 linear inches. we've gone to seattle, des moines, stL . together looking for an anger that only a black man who was a small town's first black cop could know. truclent. grass stained whites. the wailing of the blind boys of alamaba as we bobbed down backroads of gravel. we called him dynamite.

​

this performance of dynamite at ICUQTS will always be with me. within minutes of starting my rocker broke. continuing to slowly crumble underneath me. frustrated and supported by D'Angelo's 1000 Deaths i broke the back of the chair over my knee. slamming into an era's edge. 

​