If Bukowski could only see me now,
he'd be jealous.
Because through a mist of
blue-grey haze
and inebriated silence,
I'm writing a drunken poem.
It's not so bad really
as my "Lagunitas Censored,
Rich Copper Ale"
boldly announces:
"Life is uncertain,
Don't sip",
and I am drinking to silence.

Silence,
as in,
another black life,
is smothered in blood
and I need to scream
but nothing comes out
and how the **** long
will this go on?!!
I mean, 179 black lives lost
since the year began.
I have to ask,
which side are you on?
Why aren't you in the streets
until this **** ends?!

I will have a big headache in the morning.
Sorry Bukowski,
not from the beer,
but from realizing
the american nightmare
still goes on,
and on,
and on...
We need a revolution, nothing less!!

Aztec Warrior 8/14/15