I have a series of poems that I never finished and recently had the opportunity to read them over tonight, I think I like them as short and sweet as they are. This week and throughput the next few weeks Ill be posting some of these short pieces.
*This piece was a part of a poem that is finished and I originally wanted to put this in. I was really trying to stay on track with the piece holistically so I didn't place this in somewhere.In all I believe that this stands alone.

Bullets fly like treble clefs from a composer’s saxophone

How could something so humble move as fast as a catalyst

And the hood is at dissidence with culture

We are music

Forgetting that freedom once played from our fingertips