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
Whoever wins the Electoral College, race-based politics will continue to allow the corporate rulers to ignore public demands for relief from the Race to the Bottom and endless war.
Black people will get nothing from a Joe Biden administration except fiscal austerity and the precarity that comes with it.
No matter who sits in the white peoples’ house, we will have to continue to fight for social justice, democracy, and People(s)-Centered Human Rights.
China’s rise reflects a bourgeoning global movement away from U.S. imperialism and toward self-determination.
The question is not if teargas breath thugs weaponizing COVID; co-signing starvation; stage whispering, “Lock her up!” ripping children from mothers’ arms—splintering
