Country ‘tis of thee
Black oppression, White Fear
Going down in flames
-
My city burns
Some asshole steals a cop’s horse
Galloping through the fires
-
I run laughing, bills trailing behind me pennies from my pockets bounce
Blood streaming from holes I won’t let slow me down
Bright red footsteps leading them to me in a dance pattern maze
1 foot 2 foot step-step-step breath hitching in bike spoke chatter
I collapse in Arthur Murray massacre formation the procession now over
Robbing the last dance
-
Many a pecksniff
Has accused me of being
Sibylline, noetic
and downright churrigueresque
Sesquipedalian words dazzle
In wambly, callathumping fluttermouse
Zwang
Can you tell I got a new thesaurus?
-
16 millimeter chatter
magic shadows paint the screen
lost in the celluloid
old movies have always been my first 🖤
-
watching serials
real men could fight and fly then
two tone cliff-hangers
watching old republic serials on vhs on the back porch
-
when i go
love me
pretty soon
i do think
NOW
remember me
WELL
let my skin
be your
warm cloak
and my heart
BURN
in your fire
-
rescuing sewing
machines so convicts can make
face masks for everyone
traveling to Michigan penitentiary to donate time and equipment for those in need
-
leaving the council
no longer a trusted hand
graduating upwards
as an academic i have many duties serving on councils and committees
-
Over the bar at Mott street
A bank robber you’d be likely to meet.
Michael Kerrigan was an expert at cracking a safe
The authorities in NY he continued to chafe.
‘The nearer the Church, the closer to God,’
Quipped Kerrigan – his crimes near the local police squad.
He died in the alcoholic ward of Bellevue Hospital
His mistress selling an expensive broach to pay for his funeral.
Another #truecrime poem based on an outlaw from yesteryear. Researching and finding out more about these criminals continues to be an absorbing passion.
Outlaw Poetry 