the gunpowder if it ever exists dries ready full-mouthed and mush his
mission soon ends with no criteria sì, quella spiga— what athletic
power passed the hum of squirrely / selfish putsch down— if darkly uplift
the self gets righteous right to the bottom— quick, much is transparent
and not raised against the real polemic fear yr inbox as good as yr last
intesa inteso— i feel hiss intestines / push out against— the night
sufficient still bent between hiss pinching stamen & inject the sniff pop of
style kaboom
white politicians are their
weapons of there
be black poems written until love
let their weapons or they is
their weapons
leaving whose
brains
souls
splintered steps or
loud stumbling assassins
we want a bar stool in
the
liberal spokesman for trees
of there william calcraft
poison gas bullshit unless
here’s a negroleader pissing
we want a
bar
stool in the white poems written
for steel love and death wrestlers
or shudder
on the wrestlers' heaving breast
or loud with
lizbeth taylor’s
smear on girdlemamma mulatto bitches whose
brains souls pulled for the crow crowd
splintering fire
we want
a black people arrgh
