1. |
Torch and Spear
12:42
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We light our vigil candles,
Quivering orange against
Late winter skies.
Standing still, we let our
Little flames dance while
We hum the dirge for the dead.
But instead, I want to torch
The hateful homes,
The bedsheets of those that
Dream of supremacy.
I want to melt down their guns,
Make our own weapons:
Silver tipped spears
Etched with the names of those
Victimized by white terror.
And send them spiraling
Into the still-beating
Hearts of those cloaked in white
Stain those robes red.
And then we reeducate each other
We speak to a people’s history
We listen to silenced voices
We tear down those racist monuments:
Their civil war statues and privatized prisons.
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2. |
Freedom Fever Dream
16:43
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I fall asleep in the hollow tree;
Hallowed soil underneath me.
Life springs up from the loam;
Verdant moss clung to the stone.
The pitched hum of buzzing bugs
Blankets the night in a gauzy calm.
The flint struck song
Of that communal flame,
Incandescent,
It lights our face.
In circles we sing,
Our voices rise,
A chorus tonight
In harmony.
I awake to the sweltering heat,
My face flush with the ceiling.
Sour breath and shallow sleep,
Push their way up on top of me.
The violence of measured time
Will mar the rest of our fucking lives
My body a shell,
A carapace crushed
Under these heels.
Practiced hands
Drum the dirge,
Amongst the whirr;
The mourning of
These machines.
Time moves so slow,
And we will never know,
The constant glow,
Of stars over our home.
The smog surrounds,
And the endless sound
Of those listless shouts,
Sew our burial shroud.
Black bile, cough up exhaust
Dream of white birches--the life we lost.
They stole the stars from the sky
To force us, sore and wincing through
Mechanized hells.
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3. |
Guillotine
19:29
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We live in the shadows of skyscrapers;
Vacant luxury apartments,
These will never be our homes,
Our feet will never know those hardwood floors,
Our wrists never resting on those marble countertops
Closed eyes, dreaming, on a king sized bed.
Sleeping fine, down for the whole night.
And I feel contempt, spit at the name of
Another stolen city. Another neighborhood
Of racist cops, whitewashed restaurants,
And rising rent.
I daydream of the guillotine,
But don’t say a thing.
So we scatter these families;
Bulldoze over their memories
While we Erect monuments to eternal wealth
foreboding monoliths with no soul.
blackened cavities against the skyline
sneering up at the winter moon.
“Nothing personal, just supply and demand”
And I do nothing
Just hide inside.
Oh, I know this privileged life.
Call to behead all those self made men
Trust fund boys performing sleight of hand
Tricks with their blood red fingertips.
Bury them up to their necks,
And for the first time
Nourishing the soil they sapped.
Now and forever.
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