These words entangle your vista
views of sullen skylines
suddenly I am the insurrection
into the recess of your mind
misleading the broken coast
crashing waves into our bodies
You will be the end of me
my heart enraptured by soft
specks of tiny patterns
promising my foolish mind more
maybe I am truly alone
and yet I will always have you
Tearing apart my pale skin
the words of thieves preaching
on burning street corners
planting the seeds of dissonance
I am free
I am honest
but I have your blood on my hands
I am the oppressor
I am the oppressor
and I am my carefully guarded politic
I am destructive
I am real
letting the sky sort out its affects
on splitting city streets
the scions of a silent majority
tearing apart my pale skin
The edge of your face
lies in squalor
dilapidated by the law
of rich white men
in swaying walls
fading into darkness
destroyed by the
hands of quietus
The lights shine brightly
beneath your toes
creeping from bloody feet
stomping in earshot
left to rot on sidewalks
with torn masks
and deadly consonants
handed to elites
The sky is ripening
lighting the halls
of courtrooms and
floating libraries of books
about love and monsters
the segments of life
leaving their homes and
crowding these empty streets
The edge of your heart
leaves no wonder
how the clouds once fell then
and the people rose
into the atmosphere
where all men write of
peaceful days and homes
fists held in the air
Pieces of light fight through you
Red flames flowing
From the ends of your brain
I lose myself
And I want to be lost
Whenever you’re near
I would shatter the crowns of kings
I would stop time in its place
Just to see you when you’re away
Fragments of earth flow within you
Green light glowing
Through the back of your eyes
I find myself
And I want to be found
Whenever you’re near
I would steal the spoils of decadents
I would leave without a trace
Just to see you when you’re away
I shut my eyes, and I’m back
Wandering down 15th and Lincoln
Through the alley, following street lights
Past groups of kids hiding beneath hoods
Huddling by tagged up garage doors
Kings, crowns, royalty
I close my eyes, and I’m back
Walking down 27th and Forest Home
Past the graveyard, cutting through lawns
Behind the house, dead grass and hoops
Running up the steps to the back door
Weed smoke, ghosts, family
Staring
at street lights
7-11 cups full of snowflakes
and nickels and dimes
Skyscrapers
turn into skylines
stately scenes for shady men
in black bags and torn coats
Silence
begets cold nights
trains filled with fresh blood
arrive on time and pass by
Staring
at store fronts
artfully displayed in alleyways
frozen to death and alone
Bodies wait on sidewalks
The names of children written
On the sides of city buildings
The names of couples carved
Onto trees on busy streets
With the names of a lost generation
Drawn in lines on cement
Flowers wilt by a quiet home
The sons of immigrant mothers
Left on the curb for dead
The sons of immigrant fathers
Buried by old white men
With the sons of a lost generation
Celebrated on a dirty lawn
The skyline is burning
and burying coffins and chemicals
into the rivers and fields
into the distance beneath rocks
and carved stones
detailed and brightly lit
The grasses are green
and swallowing layers of dirt
hiding babies from their makers
hiding the dead from the dying
and their brittle bones
forgotten and finally gone
You tip-toed toward the fireflies
flashing across an empty street
until you felt like a vacuum
jarred, devoid and empty inside
but there’s a fire somewhere
between your cheeks
and between your thighs
lighting up your bare feet
Your eyes chased the moonlight
catching tiny fragments of light
as they crashed into puddles and droplets
of dirt, silver and muddy water
but there’s a light somewhere
behind your lips
and behind your teeth
burning away at your face
