Poem #37

Color Blind:
An epistle addressed to the south…

for Allen Ginsberg and Bree Newsome


Drive, motivation, propulsion
with will, across the network,

route, traffic,
stop & start & pause

license plate blue and white,
license plate red and white,
license plates politic and state,
license plate flags.

In Supremacist Carolina,
We arrest a black woman for
taking down a symbol
of the Federation of Confederate States

because our slavery is the color
of black and white and must be
raised up because the church
takes Middle-Easterners and

makes them White
and we are so fundamentalist.
We must be color blind
It is an equation

between the sun and symmetry
beaming, beaming, beaming, beaming
and burning the skin. Raise and lower
an altitude of migration divided by time.

We are all black,
We are all yellow,
We are all red.

When will we have some sense?
When will we see out of the holes
in cotton sheets that say,

“Get back into the field where you belong.”

The battle for civil rights
has just begun.

Allen Ginsberg, dear poetic father,
I am terrified and cry at night

For the Black Panther,
For Martin Luther King Jr. ,
For Malcolm X,
For the Hurricane, of a fist.

America, are we really
the land of the free?
America, how brave are you
with a cloaked head?

Come into the light with your
abandon, your faces, your names,

May we each read Harper Lee,
and may our fathers be Atticus Finch:
Show yourselves! So we can remove
your bodies from out the state house courts!

We need National Security
from only ourselves.

A scroll of Graffiti
on a strip mall reads,

“I seek love,”
America, when will you seek love?

I sit at study, being studiously,
at campus, what year was it,
doesn’t matter and Jean Harper
was my teacher

And she asked the best question,
regarding American Literature,
“What’s American?”
Our history could be rewritten,

in one word:

May we someday live.
Someday. When a Native
American is more than
an implement in war.


Take from the runway and
fly out into the Western horizon,
America, the home of the afraid.
Sincerely, orphans–

Post Script to the moon:
Let us bleed no more.
Let us bleed no more.
Let us bleed no more.


Take on the Warlocks
of Congress and let
the letters soar.
Until the letters sing

In Beautiful Ballads of all
the drudgery, until,
they open up the door and leave
hate mongering out of Politics

Because you sit in a capital
house or senate chair does not
give you license to just sit there,
Please Read. Read. Read. Read.

The people have spoken.
There is more to politics than
the nutritional value
of tomato paste.

Ride downtown Richmond, Indiana.
Far, far away from the coast
or much less Columbia
Senate Congress Men,

Lend me your ears.
I am the American People

and Queer

Because the buck does not stop here,
at your Supreme Court’s door.
There are many rights of
And criminals we need to Love.

And endear. Do you hear me?
I might as well send my prayer
to God and Allah
in a mantra Tanga


Mullock sends his smog
into my mouth

And I am a bum, And I am poor
And I am dirty, and I am Queer,

and I am a Lion. Hear me,

July 2, 2015



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