Troopers choked in bramble memory, jungle-wrapped fences, seats and track burst with rusted racers.
Ghosted in silent shrine.
Voices roared once, hearts leapt, sweat stung, winners and losers gone to distant grey forever lights.
Tag: USA
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LA (dash) A won’t pay rent at the flea market no more there’s no money in weaves they ain’t come to the store
Told Jose the Collector he could get bent she don’t got the cash she ain’t got the rent
Jose worked up at night a very quick plan and robbed her locked booth with his old buddy Stan
They grabbed all the falls, the hairpieces and wigs selling out of their cars with their other pal Riggs
LA (dash) A got told that them selling her stock and shot both Jose and Stan in the cock
Riggs pulled a niner and killed LA (dash) A dead at the funeral her own wigs done covered her head
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She stalks in bleach brittle blame
Knowing each button to push – to shame
Tears flow with easy twist
Eagles glare, her subtle wrist
Twisting each ask in painful glory
We bend easy to her folly
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breaking fast, a knock on the glass opened the door
earth worn and stumble footed, he croaked, ‘gotta smoke?’ black fingers at cracked lips, smiling yellow
i shut the door, blinding sight my own lungs aching
all the smoke i need inside
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Incandescent venom surges from melted blue coats now black in infirm fury. Bodies charred by fuck-affronted free folk. Tasting BBQ. Feasting on meat and cop crackling.
We burn ‘cause we hungry, Wet bellies loaded on government liquor.
Ain’t no food today but hootch is available with your legit state ID. Street meat cooks fast drunk.
Rindles of black-ash tears baptize the fresh meal-deal free for all to seize. Just reach inside and eat it if you can beat the feral kids and dogs. Ain’t no shame in coping a bite.
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ramon smashes down all 88 making the cat jump and run he sd that music ain’t what it used to be anymore and cat’s don’t get it
don’t ask me to play nice and easy or something your momma used to drop her panties to
my piano ain’t nothing but a hate machine now so keep your ears offa my music and i’ll keep my hands to myself okay
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With apologies to Wm. Carlos Williams -
This is a variation on my poem, Soul Story where I substituted ‘America’ as the focus of the work. Based on our current Covid climate, it seemed an appropriate plea for after this pandemic has subsided.
Outlaw Poetry 