this poem is the product of a sharp no.2 black
keeps remixing itself
refuses to die
learned of neccesity to multiply
this poem wants air
wants to breathe deep
for those who
cant wants wings
so it can fly over the hurdles
set for brown eyed babies
riding home
on the way to school
in that world out there
where the killing ground is the corner by the store
in front of your house
on your front porch
this poem is a fierce spirit animal
a special Obeah speaks fluent
Hoodoo Vodun Ifa & Ras
sacraficing to
set the table for those
making life in the valley of death
off scraps sewn together our coat of many colors
old made new hidden everliving a new identity
not fixed quicksilver quick
always rising never eclisped
this poem is strapped
100 rounds and one in
the chamber this
poem is dangerous
like drunk poets mad prophets
preaching on milk cartons
praying a revival of sight
looking for third eyed purple babies
with bags of breadcrumbs
this poem came to play
hard ball in boardrooms
all in your face like an
aggressive forward
it will drive wont backdown movement is life
this poem wants to be saved
from forks in the road
& rocks on the path
wants to be lifted up
wants you to know its worth
to write it down on the paper
make it imortal
wants it to be known that it
wants to be paid in full
for bales of cotton
chain gang songs
muddied waters
the clang of prison gates
insist on being paid
like slavers got /get paid
this poem is turning up
for everybody that’s
been turned down
pressed to the brink
waiting for the rope
to be thrown
into the dark place they make slim patience in
this poem is a knife fighter
it cuts through bullshit
like a street sweeper
in a gang fight on a hot summer night
like a hot straight razor
slicing butter from Auntie’s freezer
this poem is singing
for those who have been silenced
it is loud full of bass & attitude
if it ain’t your tune you gonna have to dance anyway
this poem has a memory
it knows whose shoulders it stands upon
how long the night
how steep the climb
this poem is hungry
it wants land and solidarity
prosperity after hardtimes
to no chance on
rocky hillsides
on swamp land
on cracked concrete
this poem thirsts
for freedom justice
& equity
after cotton
the lynching tree
this poem has three
eyes it never sleeps
this poem dreams of peace
while sharpening its sword
tying its camel
& promising reciprocity
