What’s the difference between you and I,
other than pigment and pride, that makes
us blind to the other’s pertinence?
Be it shirtless or clothed, wielding
line breaks or prose,
I’ve let a vermin grow
all of evolution’s violence in a single dose.
And whether students of its science or
with rebels leading
riots of stones and torches,
sometimes it sounds like
those endorphins only belong to some-
the man with the gun, or of a lighter tone.
I’ve watched doctored dreams of a world we’re all clones, binary codes that either amount to zero or one.
free of equations,
sons without occasion for a world
sorrowful mothers never taught
them to love.
No sense of God but slaver,
no heart or humanism
leaving the most
to build a church upon
I’m a man with a dream
but even auctioned
I have a dream today
to be talked of
oxygen is unwelcome to
I have a
open to every fucking one,
so kindly leave all your guns at the door.