I, too, sing of decay and rot, swinging for the noses of State Repression and Control. Imperialism hides his hand; he tucks a ski mask in his back pocket. He talks about promises of wealth and status. Elephants and donkeys surf airwaves, passing blame. Normal stuff. I scowl at the puppet master, walking along cobblestoneContinue reading “I_Too_Sing_of_Decay”
Tag Archives: poetry
Sum_of_Man
Ease into morning. Stealth-like. A Robert Glasper melody establishing a new beginning. The day yawns, stretches, and turns the key. Ignite the motivation to live freely. This day-to-day thing takes a certain mastery, a skill, a relentless step along shifting concrete to navigate empire. The cracks are deadly. Politicians flash sinister smiles. I carefully examineContinue reading “Sum_of_Man”
Sunflower_Seeds_and_the_Work_of_Tomorrow
No filters up here. Alone on a tightrope above the noise, the metal, the grit, the social pollution; miles away from a soiled Constitution, I sharpenthe edge of a brain fixated on survival. Laced up boots are normal conditions. Tupac hollers from a street corner. I focus on the margins, making a homenear outlaws, rebelsContinue reading “Sunflower_Seeds_and_the_Work_of_Tomorrow”
Tethered_to_the_Master’s_Feet
High-stepping over snake-like structuresseems to be easy when avoiding them filthy cherry pies. I keep moving, like grit is a small bird perched on my shoulders. Trump hollers about immigrants with darker hues. New identity groups echo his hot-tempered rhetoric, like they forgot liberation is already in our DNA, like we forgot that they grovelContinue reading “Tethered_to_the_Master’s_Feet”
Dopamine_Drip_From_Cracked_ Pipes
Don’t chase the temporary high of click bait and sophisticated ways to steal attention. We have been reduced to mindlessly scrolling for our enslavement–prisoners trapped behind walls, claiming we are free because the Constitution says so. Silly rationales have value. The paradigm remains. Instead, I lift fingers to rebel, to soothe, to heal, and toContinue reading “Dopamine_Drip_From_Cracked_ Pipes”
Delineation_for_Dummies
Delineation without nationhood is cosplay. Delineation without nationhood is COSPLAY, is cosplay, is cosplay, IS COSPLAY. They love them red, white, and blue apples, falling from Empire’s ripped garments. They pray to colonial fathers to design modern ships, to craft oppression, to place bodies in the bottom of ideology, to construct platforms of decay, to wageContinue reading “Delineation_for_Dummies”
No_Mercy_in_the_American_ Jungle
Mercy can’t live in a jungle. This experiment is deadly, a creature that tries to fill its belly on the flesh of humans. A game of click-clack starts as soon as boots touch the ground. Throwing dice is like breathing, dreaming. Empire functions as it was designed. I move along a black marble square, aContinue reading “No_Mercy_in_the_American_ Jungle”
Late_Autumn_Talks_in_Tongues
Balancing weight for the fifth time this week. Subtle. Heavy. A bluesy rhythm set to the tone of American hustle, muscle. Carlos Santanna strums a melody for a sun hanging on a cold day in late November. Nothing moves outside besides random crows and Black Friday sales. Crafting lines around moods has been the way,Continue reading “Late_Autumn_Talks_in_Tongues”
Used to the Weather
Adapting to the changes. To changes, I adapt. Eerily. Patiently. An early November morning winks her eye. Still gambling with old dice, trying to outlive the poison of snakebites or out hustle the pigs at a scrambler’s pace. Colonial thinking does not live in these veins. Strange DNA. I hear an unkempt drummer. Hands slapContinue reading “Used to the Weather”
Words and Beats at Sundown
Joy is a state of mind. Even a crooked smile has value. Changing tires in the wilderness has become a thing. Greg Lee unpacks the gear for another small crowd. We fall in with the people for an hour, connecting our stories, our long walks for meaning. A Haitian woman says we remind her ofContinue reading “Words and Beats at Sundown”
The Official Website of Synnika A. Lofton 