by BAR poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner
in which the poet muses upon the landscapeve in which urban pioneers thrive
Oink
by BAR poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner
I saw Satan high on Seconal—‘Red
Devils’—zap an app for zombie-settlers.
Then they came by covered wagon,
stagecoach, horseback—bathed, and
reinvented themselves as programmers,
humans, condo-owners.
I saw rent refugees morph into miserable
Monsters—vapid vampires sucking soul,
air and chocolate out Tha Town. I saw them
turn into werewolves on Lakeshore, pushing
porcelain babies in thousand dollar strollers;
stressed-out Yogis practicing purse-clutching,
street-crossing, stink-eye Spiritualism on children
and grand-children of seventy-year residents.
I saw Dadaists driving drunk the wrong way on
10K gold-paved streets, killing dance masters,
like policemen gunning down painters as a form
of critique
I saw the Best Burrito Shop, The5th Amendment,
and Africa By The Bay run off The Ave; their places
Taken by caffeine shooting galleries and Boer beer
bars for rent refugees trekkking 13 miles, bringing
Butte with them.
I saw nextdoor.com Nazi-NSA impersonators circle
laager between OPD cruisers and string yellow tape
around drumming, dancing, BBQing, singing Gospel
and other verbs modified by the phrase: “…while Black”
Raymond Nat Turner © 2015 All Rights Reserved
“We knowed what was goin’ on in [the war] all the time,” said Felix Haywood, dismissing the notion that his fellow Texas slaves were ignorant of the Emancipation Proclamation.
It seems inevitable our own holiday will be sold back to us by the same corporations that profit from exploiting black lives.
Under Nicaraguan law, it is a crime to seek foreign interference in the country's internal affairs.
How should we respond when people of color who've spent a lifetime cussing the empire start curtseying to it instead?
“Police can call you a gang member because they observed you with other gang members, who they declared gang members because they were with other gang members.”
