Cut-Throat Voices

I am the apple of the devil’s eye
as I hold my own heart out
up to the sky.
Not to far away
from where I plan to lay
six feet under
when my heart is plundered.
I have never forgotten,
when we were fifteen
we were deceived by the
massive nameless in worn out linens
when our lips,
our minds and
fingertips
were split
by Billy clubs
and tied up by nooses
that were made out of playground tethers.

I see we are infinite
when we are able to break free,
spilling our pain out onto these city streets.
These questions that we ask ourselves
from the bottom of a beer bottle
leave us behind when acting like imbeciles.
If we hold out hope for those lost souls
whose genius has yet to be defined,
then we’ll all be fucked until the end of time.

So I say,
take a chance
with words that linger till dawn.
Never minding where it comes from,
break out of your bedroom window
like Zach De La Rocha and Tom Morello
breaching the police
with a pen and microphone.
There is no better place than here,
no better time than now
until we all sleep well in this fire
we’ve made with blood, ink and toil.

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