If I had a dollar for every bullet punctured
I’d be filthy rich
with the blood, pain, confusion and hatred of my own
what are we waiting on?
who are we waiting for?
Another youth gone
to the rage of metal and skin and bone colliding
with one swift movement
for the fearful:
run like the wind knows your secret
fly like the birds camouflage you into the clouds
hide in the scare of your own daily stare
the suspicion of your greeting response
the thoughtless cycle of your motionless presence
if I had a dollar for every bullet shot
I’d be a gun pusher
I lay in bed eyes wide open
sharing my thoughts with the spirits in the air….
‘”Who watches the docks at night?”‘