For the crime of

Stolen land,
foundations laid,
by, purloined men
and women…

they want to silence
souls
for the crime
of the proclivity,
to read…
putting words
together
with the intent
to join, not
divide

but, it ain’t no profit
in searching
for God’s face,

so shut your mouth…

talk about a tooly,
pop some wobbly bits –
disrespect women,
sacrilegious acts,
in sight of our children –
at your bidding…
for pennies
on the dollar...

as we paint others…
as villian?

They bemirsch
your name,
scoff at
your acts.

They are… sad,
like Clair Huxtable
used to say.

We can’t dwell
in the temple
because
of our skin…
is seen as something,
other than –
providental?
If it is essential
that I bend
the knee,
then I must abdicate
the task,
and you can…
kiss my ass.

A reading of the piece as part of the Pa and Son Adventures (below)

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