some 9/11 poetic reflections...
15 years ago...
caspian crude rude
(for lyn z and booker t. coleman)
by ‘bro. zayid’
“When the master’s catches on fire,
I’m praying for a wind to come…”
Malcolm X
cocka-doodle doooooo!
mutha fucka!
o say can u see
past those stars and stripes
that left us hangin from southern trees
ripe
hunted dead flesh
for the birds to pluck
ripped open angry wounds
for the winds to suck…
stuck in these cities
with fake leaders on their knees
beggin for