When I think of B a l t i m o r e…
I think of heads hung
low;
Tides-- refusing to flow
Closed minds & troubled eyes.
Smoke in the faces of children
Who didn’t ask to be born in
Bus exhaustion
or Natural Caution.
“Ain’t nobody happy here.”
The streets creep
With tar that seeps
Along broken glass jars
(in brown paper bags, which I need not say-
for the people can’t stand-
the memories that stay)
The faces rot!
With frowns
And heads pointed
down.
Bus stops.
Endless amounts
Of cops >
Along
Graveyards & graffiti art:
Children fussin’ at each other for getting’ smart
Girls
Goin’ to class
To brush their hair
& stare
-into the mirror // rorrim eht otni-
to paint their faces
pace-less
because they think [know]
that’s the only way to make a name
in these places
Full
of
ageless, strugglin’ sameness
graveyards
&
graffiti art.
