by BAR Poet-in-Residence Raymond Nat Turner
War addicts crawl ‘round Capitalist Hill
on hands and knees…
Pipe Dreams…
by BAR Poet-in-Residence Raymond Nat Turner
“Bitch, gimme a hit—
I need a hit, bitch!”
Tourettes targeted, punctuating
“Boots on the ground,” “red line
Crossed,” belligerent babbling like
A crescendo passage from the pit
Orchestra below… This world stage,
Where war addicts crawl ‘round
Capitalist Hill on hands and knees,
High beams on, frantically searching
For kibbles and bits–tiny particles of
Pretext— to put in their pipes and
Smoke to get that high again awaiting
The next domino’s fall in their pipe
Dream, The New Amerikkkan Century…
Raymond Nat Turner can be contacted at upsurgejazz.com.
Raymond Nat Turner © 2013 All Rights Reserved
Remembering Glen Ford and all that he taught us.
Fraternal fist-bump between gangstas—Fugget about it… (For Allen Ginsberg, my other favorite ‘Jersey Boy’)
Black political organizations condemne
