The smell of something putrid protrudes up through your nostrils as you walk down these dimply lit streets. You hear the fire crackling, you see the glow off the side of an abandoned building.
Is this one of those fires you see on the news - set ablaze by anger and retaliation?
No. It's the burning wounds along Jacob Blake's back. It's the marks of oppression - the scars we "distract" ourselves from.
There's a fire burning in America and the source is plain to see: while bodies line up along the streets, people following along on their TV screens say a prayer for broken windows. They mourn items that are looted as if it wasn't a life that was looted first.
There's a fire burning and it melts the black skin right off their bones. A skeleton has no color yet they blame corpses for their own murders.
There's a fire burning from Sanford to Staten Island, from Louisville to Kenosha. But those very flames were ignited by the people designated to put them out.
Who watches the watchmen? Who stands with the people?
The hammer has dropped. The bullets have left the chamber. As long as our brothers and sisters have to fight for their right to live, Red, White and Blue lives don't matter.