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  • Grace (for Be’la Dona)
  • DaMaris Hill

we all drunk in rhythms, swaying sinners’ praises. our riffs ripe with fury, we winding junk for yards, lucid and lingering we united church’in it.

god’s morning star knows no minstrels. these belles be brown’sugar babes and got the devil in ‘em.

god bless the talker that know how to jelly roll, can call them to shower in her sweet sweat. go-go cover our soul leave us funktified and without regrets.

go-go, you-you, dc’s afro-beat, blues boo. go-go, grab Gabriel hit’em over the head with his harp. go-go, chuck Joshua. the best horns are all vanity ‘til go-go, beat ‘em back. drum voiced and voodooed go-go, gather my prayers, lift our legs in pure elegance.

the pocket. aint got. no stairs from hell to heaven. we backyard and basement. we experience the unlimited. we rare in our essence. we go-go, grinding gospel in our organs. [End Page 231]



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