he had a tattoo tear
it didn’t mean now
what it meant then
it weighed less
or more
it was a piece of fire now
it burned beneath his eye
announcing he had been Abel
to be Cain
the set
emblazoned on his chest
was more target than vest
it didn’t mean now
what it meant then
it weighed more
or less
then or now
sometimes
it was hard for him
to remember to remember
his body was a map
he wrote the tale before he lived it
ink told it now after he had carried it
could not put it back where he found it
became it
because
that’s how it works
they know you before you speak
if they don’t know the code
they translate with their broken tongues
he forgets to care
it used to weigh less
or more
he can’t remember
his body is
a piece of art
telling the story
carrying it
it used to weigh more
but sometimes he could care less
how they weigh and measure
teaspoons or pounds
its all the same
the tipped scale on his back
held by a blond wearing a blindfold
smoking a blunt
necklace inked on his collarbone
says
“God grant me the serenity
to hustle on”
R.I.P.’s form both his sleeves
he ain’t held his daughter yet
but her name is on his chest
right under
married to the game for life
it all used to weigh less
or more
he can’t remember which
but he knows they see him
think they know him
he is not invisible
he has a map
a story he told on his skin
do you see me now
if you do not know the code
your broken tongue thinks it knows
it weighs more or less what it used to
he remembers not to care here
like no one cared
before he wrote the story
lived the carrying of it
its his story
it weighs as much
as you choose to understand
he carried the weight of his life
in all his pockets
in his belly
it pushed up into his throat
bled in tattoo tears from his eyes
that weigh more than they used to
he has dressed himself
in tribal scars
his song of being
inked on his body
the book of him
not invisible
ace of spades
187
a spray of bullets
the number 2 800
legendary
a closed eye on a pyramid
only God can judge me
run your broken tongue
across the scars
become him before
the story on his back
could you carry it
all the dreams
backed up in your bowels
no stage to shine
the joy running out
reality rushing in
the crooked deck
being born with a dead man’s hand
a ticket to the merry go round in your pocket
even Mama’s hand can’t
soothe the pain
that pushes out your pores
the road is uphill
covered in broken glass
the destination itself
the cruelest cut
most suspect for a boy
whose mother dreamed
a mighty man from the womb
now he the usual suspect
can’t do what they want him to do
trapped in a rebel suit
what else can a thinking man do
Mama didn’t raise no fool
& this weighs more than it used to
could you carry it
if it was invisible
but it still bent your forehead to the ground
hurt in your back like old age
from the moment you were born
if it weighed more than you
would you carry it
or fall apart into ragged pieces
that smell of
ill conceived dreams
water colors in a storm
& the wrong conversations
he inked it to his skin
so it would not wash him away
he had to carry it
the book of him
not invisible
can you see him now
with the pockets bulging with
needs and promise
do you see him
always a day late
holding up yesterday’s coupon
reading Dred Scott & Ralph Ellison
seeing himself
seeing
how he would make it be
if he could
he has a map
of the road he took
the one that was open
toll free
can you translate
what that cost
do you see him
in the crosshairs
looking for an exit
can you see him
bleeding in the margins
he has written
the book of him
it used to weigh less
it couldn’t have cost more
Powerful piece — well done!