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7
that the thin ice of time
could suspend a laundry list
of lingering realities
echoing a plethora
of determined victories:
the afterbirths
of those whose bells
can never be un-rung;
like truth
can never be lies
and shadowed pain
cannot hide
keloid mortal wounds
when all pity parties
have been canceled;
unlike others,
our fingering tongues
ain’t been severed...
we can yet get up and
loudly scream or forever sit
and hold broken pieces
of the word’s whole...
yes indeed
the greatest hindrance
to liberty
is self-imposed apathy
and silence
remains the whore of
oppression—pimped out
dried ink wells—raped:-
oh yeah, it is what it is
and we poets got work to do...
and as we wade waters thereof...
let us not be overflowed...rather...
let our inking cistern overflow
our wells with webbing wise word...
