A Headstone Without a Brain

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I bought it first.

I carved my initials

Into my headstone

Spray painted phalluses

Pulped coconut pussy

Cracked against the corners

Of my tomb

my body will be inscribed

With a religious text of hate speech

A swastika crudely carved into

My brown skin

My corpse curled around

A cat of nine tails

 the lies of ape skulls

And science

The smell of decay in botanical gardens

Marching up white house stairs

Shaving my cheeks without a head

Bastards

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“I can fuck any bitch I want”

Rattling off foul consonances and vowels

The terrible mantra boys

Chant off in the school yard

Like throwing mud on the third

Grade sweetheart

That makes their mother so ashamed

Ironic

They can say these things

Off the cuff

When the father

They’ve never met

Sits at a bar in Mexico

Says the exact same things

About their mothers.

We know how it feels to sit

On top of the world

And spit on the creatures below

Like birds on a telephone wire

Waiting for the one wearing

The worst day

To add insult to injury

Chicken Wrap Deconstructed

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Have you ever known how it feels

To have wings but not fly?

To graze

But never feed

See the sun through holes

In chain link fence

Feel the dirt

crumbling beneath

Talons

Imprisoned

Reconstructed hormones

Toxic dump in cities

The product has never

So closely resembled the consumer

 both birthed as a cash crop.

Millenial Protest Song

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Locked fortress of stone

There’s a fire in your home

We can no longer be patient

No longer docile patrons

The blacks are no lepers

The women no whores

No person illegal

Bathing in the blood

Of the poor

Indignant uproar

Burn burn Baltimore

Chaotic kids

With the crack

At the end of the barrel

The catalyst

Ferguson

Carefully divvied
Up on my figure.
Spread like frosted pastries
Dispersed evenly
Meticulously
The shards of the vodka bottle
Teases me
With the cold alcohol.
Bashed against the base
Of the stuck in traffic
Swat van

“Rest in peace Michael Brown
Every cop in the ground”

I shuddered when the rock broke
Through the window
Of the shop
Where he bought
His own
Ferrari
Something old
Withering away in the garage
That he always seems
To prioritize over people

He would have killed for that car
6 shots, unloaded clip killed.

I smoked in line,
Holding the banner
Cigarillos
Almost sweet enough
To have been stolen

I see the ignition
The catalyst in his
Black pocket
And the town in burning
And my eyes
Are burning

But if this country was built
Upon the backs of my
Lashed forefathers

That same ignition
Would be at the edge of his gun
Blazing through
The fire in me.

Daddy Issues.

There’s a special bond between a mother and a son
It can be found
In dark studio apartments,
Dog day depressions

In the glow of breakneck streets
In junkyard lots of devastated confusion

In vexed tears
In daisies cradled in the barrel of M16s
The muscles holding up the fist
The breath of the air
The sun in the sky
Passion’s flame
Climbing dirt and diamonds

At times it burns like tire fires
And race riots in L.A.
But In the end
It burns like magnesium