Brother against brother
And nothing left for mother
Black, white, brown, indigenous other
All drawing a line, bisecting through color
All dripping the blood of lost voices
Becoming a shade that connects, indifferent
Early morning dawn
Full moon illuminates the minds eye
And the vacillation of shadows die
The sleep of reason and the study of fear
Leaves monsters to make the choices:
Who lives and who dies?
Who eats and who cries?
Fresh roasted with your choice of flavor
Distilled in the faint
Cries, the pain of feudal labor
One sip, ignored and abandoned
Roasted souls, hymns, songs of the heartland
Captivity in the form of fabric
Green, but more like grey
As mason Dixon bleeds the circumference of our homeland
An illusion of choice where all roads lead south
Both banks of the Mississippi covered in blue
Bigots posed as stars, marking through truth
Hunched over, in a chair on a porch, the delta plays
The blues of desperation turn red, brave and benign
Howling in the wind, prophecy, a call from the dawn of time
When the stripes of white still win
and cover canyons, dreams, and love like steel bars
All the world can only sigh
More bombs fall like rain through an empty roof
The summer, primavera, of a shelled safe
Blood for money
Diets for the family
And resistance is still the burden of proof.