night-time the city groans the street she’s made of skin and bones metaphorical of course the trashcan luminaries glow come closer girl witness the yellow flames doing the mambo
the eye fixates on chewing gum chips greens reds blues and whites tanned by side walk bacteria to look like leather lockets
a lonely saxophone sticks out at 7th he sways low and high traffic its ventriloquist serious things do cross my mind not just my trivial troubles
electric gadget old time store shows moving pictures all day long but i think the state the state don’t own my color divisions revisions im fed 24/7 of multimillion dollar fist and knee hustling heroes of the people
the moon flipping me off the feet trudge through the tunnel’s mouth a dollar here a water box there three cups of coffee a Jesus pamphlet a drug lord stare the woman bleeding a call for help an argument here a stare down there and the toothless guys use purple flags to wipe their asses
the state the state you don’t own my color my truth is mine and we the we don’t really clash the state don’t own their color either
i earn my bread i pay my share to keep the oval circus going but so do they of every hue and be aware that shadiness comes in every tone from every corner of the globe machine don’t use those kids as fodder
i want to be who i was born to let the children go so state the state i feel your scorn but fuck you you’ll never own my color if polished sand ceilings or jealous sisters end my ascendance here at least i’ll die knowing i fought my way with opened eyes and steady brush to take the hands of everyone and paint the tinge of human love inside me
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