still picking cotton…

fingers
raw
blood dyes
the
whiteness
bags
of
enslavement
fill
the coffers
of
society’s sloths
land owners
and
corporate moguls
who’ve
never
lifted
anything
but
a whip
or
martini glass
and
unable to
carry
even the lightest
yoke
of
labor
they claim
they’ve worked
hard
for
their wealth
but
it is
our blood
staining
every fiber
they’ve done nothing
but
enslave
they
own
nothing
nothing
just
a myth
which
they repeat
as
their mantra
leaving
us
to
pick
the world’s
cotton

 

ain’t left the station…

been sittin’ for years
posters on the walls have changed
even have been able
from time to time to change seats
but freedom’s  train ain’t arrived

 

consumed…

so easily confused
the prey
or
the predator
roles
that often
seem
interchangable
depending
on the moment
in
history
but
there are
only
a few
true predators
consuming
every aspect
of
their prey’s life
their
flesh
and
bones
even
their souls
are
cannibalized
but
the unwary prey
go about their
ritualized routines
praying
in
churches
grasping bibles
while holding
questioning faith
riding
subways
to
resent filled positions
where
they’re demeaned
on
a regular schedule
but
the salary’s necessary
to
payoff the debt
they owe
the predators
so
they
continue
to be
consumed

 

self-quarantine…

i’ve begun to think
should have done this years ago
could have avoided
the imposed sins of my skin
and act like slavery’s gone

 

the book of dying 1:9…

workers’ prayers continued but no change
their loads grew as poverty did
as more died death smiled broadly
but some asked questions about life