***** Hands
Are they clean?

Pontius Pilate, washing those hands that night, now are the filthy deeds made white!

America, do tell about the politicians blind-eyed toward homeless people in the streets, tell me about children starving to death?

Does a wealthy man cleanse hiimself as the blood leaves his hands?

Banning guns & glocks, as girls
are sold into slavery, in the blocks.

A gift for kids to go to school
It's not a gift to get shot up.

From poverty to bullies to school shootings, Mrs. Liberty has lost her footing.

When we go home, locking doors and turning the noise up, is washing of the hands with soap, making us whole?

Waiting for a drop to trickle down while these ***** on top drown.
The 1% ****** up the whole ratio
got people breaking their backs
like auto-*******.
Just to make ends meet.  
Like Ricky, he was working towards that American dream but
behind the scenes life was
coming apart at the seams
all because of a fault of his genes.
Uh-oh
Couldnt afford insurance,
and there all his savings go.
Spending eighty thousand dollars on pill that MIGHT save his life.
But wait, what about
dear Ricky's wife?
She was right there by his side
Watch him rot for months
'till the day he died
now she's empty inside.
Forced to swim in high tide
with no buddy.
She can't cope, even with that hollow feeling she can't float
Starts sinking deeper in the drink.
Thrashing in the dark
with lungs burning
there's no room to breath.
Foreclosure notice on the door
Say her and the kids need to leave.
Back to the grind with
no time to grieve.
Just another cog ground out
by the American machine.
So ******* much for the
American dream.

I pray for a day
When we don’t have to turn pain into power
I pray for a day
When we don’t have to feel shame or cower
The sweet promise of freedom
In our stomach turned sour
Massacres and mobs
Hold torches screaming *******

I pray for a day
When we all rise up
Lungs filled with blood or sea water
Will you drink from my cup?
Can you weather the rain?
Can you carry the pain?
Can you listen to the voices
Of the ones that were slain?
Bodies left broken on trees
And pulled to the depth of the seas
Bodies injected with disease
And necks crushed with knees

I pray for a day
When we can grow as one
Power and pride
And second to none
In strength and stride
With no fear of a gun
That can take the life
Of another mother’s son

Why do we look up into a stormy sky
Stare out into the grey because we could not see the light
Hope is a fragile thing, how is it not broken yet?
The walls are closing in, feels like we’re breathing our last breath
What do we do? Who will we save? This land of the free and the brave
Is sinking into fiery waters of all of the lives that we gave
Defeat us not, we won’t despair
We keep on going, we don’t know where
Sacrifice, hope, human resilience
We are pressing on with purpose
That’s our human brilliance
Search on, search on, search on
What is it we will find?
An ember of hope burning
Whose flame will never die.

they're living in flowers
up high and across the sea

while we avoid potholes
and bugs just to scrape by

Dear Mom & Dad,

I won't be coming home quite as soon as once thought. I have found a place where they really like me; a place like no other. Instead of being shunned and despised, like most places, I'm invited to everything:
parties,
picnics,
and parades,
my neighbors even welcome me with open arms. Suffice-to-say, I finally feel like I belong and plan to stay a while in this country.

Your Son,
Covid-19 Coronavirus, III

The only thing I learned
In this ocean of stars
Is that I can drown anywhere

American puppets
Hanging from walls like flies in a sty
Chest out, hands on hips, fingers eyes screaming ******
painted faces and naked guns  
horns and hats on heads
wrapped in white
scaling walls like drowning spiders
Like the children you tuck into desert graves or return to murky waters  
Running at red
flag or flower
Petulant like infants
scuttling on all fours like roaches
do you follow rot or does it follow you
in either case you made a nest
good luck hiding once the stones are turned
and the sun melts your costumes
and hard crunchy shells
to show an empty and ***** carcass
fly your flags
the wind won’t hold them like its 1861.