February 18, 2015

Le Tete is Alive!

‘Alive!’ (Z. Hall, 2015) contributes to a conversational space where Skip Hill’s ‘Le Tete’ (2005) and Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man” (1952) engage in a concrete dialogue with the reader-viewer-listener about the invisible and those who will not see.

'Le Tete is Alive!' is a collaboration that will be exhibited as part of the first annual Ralph Ellison Festival in Oklahoma City, OK, Film Row District on Friday, February 20, 2015 from 6:30 p.m.-11 p.m. The event features music, art, poetry and more. A reading of 'Alive!' will be featured.

 'Le Tete', Skip Hill (2005)

'Alive!,' Z. Hall (2015) 

I see u watching me
looking at u
seeing me
in constellations
of    cari    catures
spread across
the expanse

in marginalized lanes
on the right side of
guardrails criminalizing
of ghosts

gulping air
when available
for purchase at
the convenience & liquor store
on    ev    ver   ry    corner
under streetlights
of 1,369 watts
splitting darkness
in half

taking form

reflections in
the shape and peculiar
disposition of your eyes
confirm I am real

that shit don’t scale

I am yet to come
to my reality as
apart from the Other
tangled in machinations
of multicolored broken glass
on absorbent asphalt

no protections

lives in the balance
measured on scales
rusting & hanging
from high rise dwellings

desolate & cold

I am    ev    ver    ry    where
in the world
w   h   e   r   e
redemption is

rehab-ing wrongs
of the interminably
by reason of
from possible
e    vil

terrifying calm

blackness of Blackness is
the nickel in the quarter slot
that mark outside the line
raisins in the peanut tin
hated for their honesty
despised for being present

banned inhabitant

danger lies in
awakening sleepwalkers
in dank alleys of transgression
where phantom guided hands
commit atrocities
phantoms whose only sin
is in their skin

unceremonious suicide

dying lifetimes
that the hands might
live, and live
more abundantly
in    con    scious
uptake of the
good life

poor vision

blame shifting
onto shapes
carved by doers
of the unthinkable
while phantoms
jazz dance to
silent music

mea culpa

their travesty
of complicity in
sickening unto death
implicated by
sustained reflections of
mis-shapened forms
existing in
the mind’s eye of
those who cannot see
the real-life
canvas with no

Do you want to know
what I call myself?



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