A blood red sunset drips over
the black asphalt city skyline
somewhere in a lost part of America

where the dream has
long been dead and buried
and hate and fear rule
the rural streets that are protected
by peace keepers
that practice ******
more often than upholding the law

It has been declared open season
on any crow the color
of a starless night sky
and the dove has become
a symbol of
to protect and serve
their own kind
birds of a feather
that cover for one another

justice is blinded
by the snow covered truth
and the color of corruption
is coincidentally the same
as the color of money

the poor have little choice
but to trade their bones
and their hopes
to the corporations
of the new land
of the free
to be owned by
and controlled by
a minimum wage
that only guarantees
to keep the poor
poor enough
  to work another day
    and another day
      and another day

until there bones are
nothing but powder
and their beds
are nothing but coffins
for the barely living

and life somewhere
in a lost part of America
at the end of everyday
the sky turns red
and the color of blood
runs through the streets
as the doves go along
with their business
of the murdering of crows

everything is everything, and
everything is nothing at all.
everybody’s obsessed until
everyone’s obsession finally
falls. blood splattered on the
earth’s surface, not everyone’s
mother will receive that painful
call. a cold body and an empty
stomach, not everyone’s mother
will be weeping whilst they lean
on their kitchen wall. to live as
a burden, and to die just as any
other human, not everybody’s
mother will miss their baby boy.

-t.m

Black boy stripped of his innocence.
Black boy denied his right to be a kid.
Black boy labeled since birth.
Black boy criminalized.
Black boy stereotyped.
Black boy violated.
Black boy silenced.
Black boy monitored.
Black boy put into a box.
Black boy seen as a menace.
Black boy forced to grow too fast.
Black boy with his back to the world.
Black boy, you are loved
Black boy, you are a prince
Black boy, you are beautiful
Black boy, you are smart and worthy.
Black boy, go on and speak your truth.
Black boy, go on and dance.
Black boy, go on and sing.
Black boy, go on and paint.
Black boy, go on and be a kid.

This country was built on broken backs
yet we still have to crawl on broken glass
Beg for mercy and thank you warmly
when you lift the boot from our throats
lest we come off as uncivilized--
your comfort is worth more than our lives