if spit see stars
you got to invent
a telescope to see
what else it know
that you dont know
listen maybe you
can write it down
ink is good for that

—wordslanger, (INK)

Unaturalized

I am American

because some one

stole an ancestor

maybe by the river

or coming from market

alone without thinking

that in the bush lie

another reality across

the water in another

paradigm upside down

disconnected and twisted

I sit in America an African

who has never seen Africa

I come from wealth

gold and diamonds in

the ground natural like

the contempt on the face

of oppressors afraid of

uprisings and sudden

understanding committed to

material accumulation

like addicts adding to

the sins of the father

abandoned by the gods

they have abandoned burning

America slowly as Nero’s

solo is remixed

I fight to remember

it would be easier to forget

that I am one with water

and dirt worth no more

than the earth beneath my

feet I am stardust and gods

tears my heartbeat my

first drum head to the sky

singing underwater trying

to get by in a land of shadow

where the sun sets so hard

I don’t know if I can lift it

anymore

its burning the dreams

scattered on the floor

but maybe its

alright cuz I cant

afford to believe them

anymore no boots to

pull up on adrift like

the jobs that flow

off shore 3^rd world

American African

who can’t go home

too much blood

on the path and

for me there

is really no return

someone stole Africa

corrupted  parceled

colonized  subverted

they have privatized
my sorrow severed

roots cauterized my

dreams of home I am

ever outside forced to

build without a blueprint

write new myths the

blood ran on the old ones

praise the old ones

save the young ones

are we the ones we

so need someone

when I was little

I waited for some one

to come then I decided

to be someone

are we the ones

sometimes at night

I search the sky fighting

to remember what would

be easier to forget

dreams of thunder

gods who construct pyramids

hope for rain and strong children

chariots swingin low

searching Eden deep inside

still African thinking one

day I’d like to be home

again one with the dirt

beneath my feet and

my thoughts of the ocean

an African who has never

seen Africa dreaming

of cocks feathers and cowries

fighting to remember