i was arrested for feeling the music,
she was my mistress of hard labour...
the shovel that dug out my eyes in
summer heat; whilst flies gathered
round my corpse like stillness to eat
away at my defeat; i am the bitter
harvest, that renames your crops famine,
i bring tears to your children's cheeks
& taste your people's blood in slow
moving tree tops; a pulse known only
to delta blues, a retched stench
dancing through the air to a swinging
body; slaves in my path, with white faces
sprinkled around the seams of this
black and crimson red cloth.
Mahogany skin against blinding
blue skies. a place where your god
dares not enter, and angels wings
would merely burn in mid flight.
Disease is your birth right, through
dirty waters of wasted feces, swimming
in urine water falls, then bathed in
rotting flesh rock formations;
Paradise is made of human remains.
Racially profiled fields bare
home to cob web guitars and cracked
acapella voices, a history undeniable,
yet a black mans gospel truth.