Miles Davis and Lil’ Kim
Draped in a Malibu Barbie playhouse
Kim discloses some grit growl of a warning
from behind cherry lip gloss: a clean cocked
gleamed glock. Cut to the money shot.
Layer it with a highway worth of blues
traffic gridlocked by those tragic
hot blue eyes. Davis, a hurting
in between his cheeks, a hurricane
let loose in the wrong direction
scoffing at the passing lane.
His paws all amaul on Cicely,
his poorest pitch her dragged hair;
loose soil on a busted TV lip.
You bad, Kim says, frisking
power, daring a stance on teen walls
finally dropping her best jewels
like panties, you so bad. A knife
this time, turns his brilliant hand
busted. So what? he plays, melting his fans
into ecstasy and awe, incapable of critique
that catchy riff, the sound, so what? He sparks Nefertiti in a low bass smooth, a self-defense
a forestry of whole note rests. You fly, he mocks her, you so fly.
He knows. You fly, he blows.
You so fly. Her tight then tighter nose.
A slightly varied version originally appeared in Reverie, 2010 Vol. 4