“CLEO, 21, a stout girl with masculine ways, rolls a large trash receptacle out of the building.”

in this version, da metallic blue ’62 Impala CLEO
speeds through da tunnel is still cornered by 21
cop cars, an insufferable headlight circling from a
chopper, but when her sweat drips on da dash stout
wings sprout from her custom chrome rims, our girl
hits da hydraulics & blasts away from da bullets with
a cigarette tap dancing between her lips, da masculine
Black lesbian survives in this version, parts ways
with da sirens as Up Against da Wind still plays, rolls
into da mesosphere she dreamed of in 7th grade, a
bleach blonde kink hangs on da window until a large
flannel floats da rest of Ursula’s fine ass in, she makes trash
of Cleo’s jumpsuit, da world below now a wide receptacle
Cleo’s soggy braids are da only things getting taken out
far from money’s myth & crimson secrets, free of
earth & its true thieves, Cleo reclines & laughs all the
homies back to breath, spits on da tip of a bank building