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the whole world went crazy
because the “Negroes” were coming down the street devouring light from want of bread, of pride, of dignity, of our liberation. this is our audacity-- to learn to pronounce freedom, for the brittle body to rearrange itself, with all the power, against all hope. (credit for lines used listed below) if your rage be fire, burn
all this shit to the ground. be an arsonist, sulfurous in your fury. when they tell you that furor is futile, tell them that yours was the back all their motherfucking glory was built on and you will be damned if all this tinder goes to waste. after Abel Meeropol
Will the flesh too burn black after the skin has been removed? Will plasma curdle and teeth flake and lungs bubble and cells burst? Everything has been baptized by inferno yet the trees do not die and their produce does not expire; it's as if they've been planted by streams of ichor. Their gardeners refuse to labor in vain. How is it that even after the fruit has been plucked (or knee revoved or gun reholstered or fists loosened) that there are still those who do not see the fire despite all this smoke? |
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