letter from prison

i.

it wasn't as if we didn't see them
we walked past them as if
they weren't there

they were in front of us, in earshot
and wanted to get our attention
or something like that

they were tall and skinny
pale and talking trash and
never  said nothing like hi
when i spoke to them about
using the word nigga

i confess my sin
i shot them where it hurt
for i forgot myself
being angry real quick
cause it seemed they forgot themselves
and mocked us blacks
as they was white and in their box
and we was out, like nowhere near
even in pretense or suppose

ii.

jail, however, may never
explain the pain, their lies

these lay in the heart
on a sofa or a lounge
bottled and shut
their poison locked from release
dependent on the speaker's words
too set them free

made no difference cause
my anger was visceral
and needed to stand tall
when the air was hot

for what else was i to do
but be loyal to myself
and shot the fools?

a patriotic cancer




*Transformation of mind and heart, interior justice, that's what concerns apostles.
-Jean Sulivan


*As long as the priest is primarily a functionary of the sacred, the professional of the  parade-ground - that is, as long as he constitutes a caste - Christian communities will not arrive at real responsibility any more than the soldiers of a regiment, in spite of all the adjustments made under the pressure of circumstances.
-Jean Sulivan