the art of kara walker
is in black and white
sexual positions for illustrated
children’s books
 
graphics of sarcastic, cynical scenes of violent non-violence
pickaninnies and mammies in a white comedy of errors
exquisite-corpse, airless compositions with minimum
image and maximum multiple rorschach meanings
hiding behind the solved mystery and laughing serious
ambivalent fun rage at big black daddy
who painted pictures of martin luther king
like printing his own currency
out of that fried-chicken-still-life-
black-art-establishment
that is so sold out
that any sexual game different
—with the proper credentials—
deserves a genius grant
 
the art of kara walker
competes with 1970’s, nazi,
sadomasochistic, sexploitation films:
she’s art-directing the night porter,
playing the role of charlotte rampling,
married to a husband of fine nordic stock
walking a black dog around the block
in josephine baker jogging shoes
with an italian bronze-colored afro-doo
 
giorgio moroder playing with donna summer
through her pink plastic headphones
rococo disco hurts so good
and she works hard for the money,
consoling herself that she is the object
of provincial ignorance and petty jealousy