I.
Men on the inside,
Men on the outside.
Girls waiting for a ride.

Guns in the car and
Guns on the street
All stop and wait,
To turn on a dime.

Their Teeth be red,
Mr. Man on the beat
Ain’t nothing taking
you to the end off my street

Where a house so cold
Left it’s owner so deaf that the
second owner died
Trying to reach the
same clef.

And without a horse, a cane, a hat, or tales
so rent. Just by playin’ out-side the schoolyard;
where our ****’s never been spent.

Isn’t enough to you.
Or me.

II.
Guns in the avenue
Guns on the beat
Daylight’s sunshine, more
dripped blood onto my street.

First games at the park,
Then learning Names on the bus
I feel Twelve years old, I have
Twin lives told Apart by
Barely-even-yet spent breath.

School’s in the dark.
The street’s on the yard,
Jitterbug is almost over.
Horned construction softens.

More than the Men on
the inside
Men on the outside.
We’re all Waiting for a
future to tomorrow.
Something, something to meet.

Not some pipe to bend,
or some rule to break,
Or to get noticed,
for violence’s sake,

Only for the highness
to be been ridden
of what answers
Ancient pain brought.

Until we all believe we’re
Just providing a soul’s life freedom,
and one un-ill begot’en one.