Welcome

Welcome

Bare baby slapped

twisted and gagged

born in violence

scabbing belly button

here you are

what’s next

momma’s tit

daddy’s gift to you

more violence

welcome to this world

don’t cry,

don’t be hungry,

don’t need,

for god’s sake

don’t need.

My American Dream

Long stemmed grass stuck between my teeth

shock of black hair blowing in a summer breeze

I lost count of puffy clouds slow motion journey

across my panoramic view of childhood.

 

I guess life awoke my sleeping innocence

eighteen and America counted on me

to kill protect uphold words written

before my naiveté before I could shoot a gun.

 

Dark spots growing across this wrinkled skin

tell a story repeated in so many volumes

so many stories lost on hills valleys jungles

headless soldiers burned like a Sunday barbecue.

 

Did Uncle Harry Grandpa Seth daddy Johnny

come marching home again hoorah hoorah

did anyone wave their bloody legless bodies

in the air and scream “I’m buying.”

 

America’s stories are written in blood

hot rivets and soured sweat let’s kill those reds

yellows blacks browns and baby eggs

let’s kill mothers collateral relevance is all.

 

Peace is reading a newspaper want ad

grandkids suckling in the parlor

growing gun hands and running feet

they too will learn too soon, too soon

 

So what’s your plan little child soldier

go to college learn you are useless learn

Thomas Jefferson loved black women

his genius mind is lost forever in ignorance.

 

Learn that God is only you inside a Santa suit

learn your parents were wrong about freeways

cause nothing is free especially not your way

money pays for the paper George and John wrote upon.

 

This is my America you don’t like, you shun

like dumpster diving rat lovers

cardboard mangers sitting on steam grates

back alleys backwashes backstabbing.

 

Grab your last pay check and scream hoorah

parade your colors of black and blue

life is not mine to keep or yours to take.

Salute this brass bell America shoot my head off hoorah.

Caged

We are birds

freedom measured

by cage size and whims of our masters

don’t speak of god’s will.

He’s smoking a Cuban whistler

drawing hard on a factory made blunt

somewhere in the golden boardrooms of Wall Street emperors,

alpaca stuffed recliners drinking the blood of Christ.

We are birds

flying in circles

chasing dollars and breadcrumbs

chicklets with gawking beaks screaming,

“No room, no room at the inn.”

Four,

one will scream of freedom, one suicidal,

one staring through the bars

hoping his sister will soar through the cell’s gate.

Mortal Jesus

Mortal Jesus

I declared “I will fight forever for you.”

She smiled, hanged her head, deep socket eyes

moistened until fall breezes stilled them.

Life is  bounteous and bursting

ripe with words from her god.

“I cannot cheat on my Husband.”

“He is not here, I said, “never will be.”

“Your faith is weak,” she declared.

“But I walked the Sea of Galilee and chose you.”

“I have not chosen thee, you are not the Son of God.

You are but Jesus, a man of no means and few words.

You will die in an auto wreck.  I see it in your hands.

Pigs of War

Holes in his shoes

the boy gathered his clothes.

No one saw him

no one ever did

he was invisible to a cruel city.

You see he wasn’t white

this decade’s favorite color,

more of  a pig pink

seemed to be the in-crowd’s

darling tint.

Recruiter smiled at him

“this is the place for you

Robert Mason the Third.

After all there’s a war to fight

God knows them pig noses don’t care.”

Robert came home in a metal case,

a hero for all the pigs to see.

“Them boys gave it their all,

ultimate sacrifice we’ll never forget.”

They forgot.

Carousel

Those horses I rode
I was young
younger than today
were made of clay
ran in circles
to the music of my world.

Stallions of my mind
with nostrils flaring
invisible manes
clutched in my memory
riding high plains
of consciousness.

Thoroughbreds of thought
reaching for a gold ring
a child centrifuge
a smile for no mother
a wave for no father
the carousel goes round and round.

Dark

Dark

A man with a gun is a strong man

standing his ground.

Gonna whip the black man

gonna burn that cross

cause Jesus is happy to see

cracker clean heads.

God’s warriors gonna protect

the constitution

come hell or high water.

Gonna kill them children jumpin rope

playin in streets where bullets

follow unexpected paths,

one dead maybe four more.

It’s all in the Bible you see

one black baby worth seven wolf skins.

The kings with thirty in a clip

go to the movie and kill what must be killed

that’s how the game is played.

Smokin’ guns are fun

stop and frisk the Muslim man

the black, the poor, the trash

we don’t need no more.

Expendable like milk cartons

on a planet spinning into doom

Arctic washing machines will cleanse

them dirty clothes once again.

LA will float to Siberia

and dirty cops will drown

cause Jesus loves us all.