I turn my tongue green with a pint of mint listerine. A blistered knee. Eyes bleed from the passing of a centipede. Don't stand close to me I erupt in a millisecond, conforming into a catholic priest. I stand high underground. The sounds of an orchestra swimming in the mud with the sounds of an orca. I boast I had it all, but now I can only hope that they don't take away my last adderalls. Don't test with a number 2 pencil, give me a red pen so I can pencil him in. And they call me a backpacker. Hike up your mountain till I find the erupting fountain and go for a deep sea dive, only to come back to land in the space of a spaceship, blasting off with my sins. High-class noon, blast off past the moon with a fork and a spoon, I went too far; now I need to rewind so I can get my piece of the cake, in a cheesy plate. Its an arms race to the finish line, my A.K. is too heavy to glide across, I could only make it past half of the track. I had to make a pit stop and grab my Tech ...
The Black Panthers were an awesome revolutionary group. When I was in Elementary School, a teacher told me and the rest of the class that they were a really bad gang, LOL.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you have written a poem in memory of the persecution this group faced.
That's what J. Edgar Hoover wanted people to think. They labeled them terrorist, when in fact he's one of the biggest terrorist to ever live!. This is why in don't watch the news. They seem to hate progress.
ReplyDeleteThankyou for your comment on my post your poems are beautiful too.
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