Curled into silvery

Steals its merge on its horn,
the tyrant urge and centric scorn
which tales up year-long
on shoulders wrought from soap
in this the heavy breath,
this the naked step where white
men together wept near to death
on each another like the onion
made to fall apart, an apricot
in mouths who felt their start
so all things moist would wink and spit.
They close an eye and close a pit
honest for once, bared in fits
when they gasp, gasp and grin,
grin their last, grin like men.


~ by Jeremy on September 12, 2010.

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