Tossing and turning all night
recently had the strangest dreams
recalling them in broad daylight
don’t know what they mean
wrecked by a stacked deck
of bottom-dealt cards
I was under the gun
attacked by a pack of hungry wolves
had me on the run
lost in the woods and couldn't see
the forest for all the trees
mocked by a flock of tar-black crows
had me on my knees
and tho' the Gods may be crazy
staring out from on high
they do look after their own it's true
for drunkards children and fools such as I
A word or two about my view of the politicians
we presumably put in positions of power
hobbyists bought and paid for under the table
catering to manipulating lobbyists by the hour
where saying nothing yet flapping their gums
offending no one when sitting on the fence
doing naught but wagging their tongues
and all the while protesting their innocence
dodging the bullet by ducking the question
avoiding the topic with digression
self-serving landing votes with glad-handing
fingers firmly crossed behind the back
conscience-free they sleep well at night
there's nothing (short of gun) can be done to keep them on track
those more than a few who are quite literally
caught red-handed with their pants down
making a mockery of you and me
should be tarred feathered and run out of town
There’s tar on the floor,
Two, or three, or five, or more,
Don’t know why I’m counting, there’s nothing in store.
Sticky and dark, there’s nothing to read
You don’t rid of it, it will only breed.
Strong, loud, conscious
Living, living, living.
This black tar covers my brain,
With viscosity of motor oil from a 1950's tractor,
Wiping every so often but it still remains,
Trauma of life may have been a factor,
Continuously drips finding my crevices of weakness,
Seizing every ounce of good nature it can,
A vicious vacuum for precious meekness,
This twisted consumption is part of some plan,
Barbed wire around ribs puncturing with every breath,
Wounds to never be healed duly,
A hand of tar pumps my heart preventing death,
Even if it's the one thing the sickness seeks truly.
Growing up, white c****** liked to study my every move.
If I showed weakness, they could break in and take control.
In the sunken place, that's mind, body and soul...
and I couldn't scream because white people could do no wrong!
Being adopted is a kinda Hell that doesn't let up.
White community, so black is never good enough.
So, I make beats to ease the pain of racist memories.
Adoptive mother hated n***** and she loved the police!
Catholic church, 666 was always on the wall.
The only black man in the church, so I'll take the fall.
The only black man in the schools, never f***** at all.
No black woman to give me comfort, overall.
Adoptive father, white supremacist ideology.
Still don't know the real reason he adopted me.
Adoptive family is resentful as far as I can see.
They never wanted a little n**** in their family.
Adoptive mother saw the chance to play the savior card.
Raised me from the narcissistic and not from the heart.
So, I have a lot of anger deep inside of me.
I'll make this rap album, so I can be free!
red orange ball of fire
rolling up down green tar hill
skin cancer is real
We exist in space and time
invisible, unseen for who we
truly are exchanging
words for thoughts
never face-to-face
but touching just the same
vitriol tossed with the sweetness
fair barter for some form
of kind heaven exchanging
inclement weather
to the vestries of
each others’
netherworlds
divesting
tar and feathers
Candide Diderot. ‘24
head on.
Away with you to tall golden grasses
to the sound of a creek running over rocks
the babble and gaggle of water sounds
Away with you to open spaces where you can breathe
To big fields that stretch out in every direction
Away to those black inner tubes that you sit in and just float down the river
not a care ..just float
Away to hills covered in ferns
to the smell of peat moss and earth
dark brown rich earth
moss and lichen
To strange openings in the forest where the light cast down through the trees in beams onto the floor of the forest where there is nothing but light pine needles
Special places these that we have known...
I think of inner city kids and how they only know sidewalks and weeds that grow up in between
They find their sweetness in the night on tar topped rooves
Sitting on hot tar topped spaces staring at stars
I hope that they found their freedom in the sky
Dinosaurs
D i s c o v e r e d
Evolution
Diplodocuses
U n e a r t h e d
Tar
10/29/2020
Cars forming scars
Tar bodies
Sunny, drizzling days
searing summer sun
tarpaper rooftop beaches
city sunbathing
Life - it is bigger on the inside
A starlet who once thrilled the cops
Developed some droopy jowl chops
A Facebook beauty
She's still a cutie
Thanks to software filters and crops
Tar and Feathers
His name is Bob.
Not Robert.
He is a bird.
I want to make that clear from the start.
I am bigger than him and he depends on me.
That is for food, water, treats and shelter.
Am I clear?
No one is listening.
I can see that by the blank faces,
clear through the machine.
I am talking, but saying very little.
Sometimes he is mean, and I must work.
He will not let me stop.
Then he dumps over my coffee.
He is just making me better.
I needed to re-write that piece anyway.
Maybe…
His wings are green, red and lovely cobalt blue,
But let me tell you more.
He has claws, that work better than just fingers.
They clutch and climb, and make the bell chime.
Seriously, I can not do any work, while he is on my desk.
Yet every day he finds his way there.
Is this a test?
"Meuller's research went far too far
but met the Congressional par
NO RUSSIAN COLLUSION
To end all confusion
I want an Immigration "CZAR"!
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