I have seen empty bodies roaming the streets like left over Chef Boyardee
Layers of meat and flesh sliding alongside one another
And no matter how hard I try to prepare the meal there are some parts that stick to the side of the bowl like names on side walks and candle wax in between dripping on fresh flowers because this one is an early death
The smell of tomato sauce escapes me like the first time I saw snow and labor day when the bloc used to resemble home
Flags waiving from street signs ans light post
not a speck of red white, and blue
The beat of our hearts drumming folk songs and correcting our mistakes
We once used drums and campfire silhouettes to deliver obligations
Now we confine one another to metal bars and stack ourselves in the middle passage
We don't know how to be humans and I don't blame you

Don't let the world package you like something microwavable
Your spirit is too vast to be seen through a hole
They still wonder how it is that when thrown into something you don't own you can still burn like fire
Warn the world that your shadow is trying to escape your body to remind your spirit that there is a home hiding in your rib cage
Do not bound your hands across you body when the air in your lungs traps the sound in your voice like a whupping cushion
You are a human
Fighter
Triumph
You are love

Your dark hands release from the pockets of air kept in the corner of the block
Embrace her shoulders standing tall like pillars and drop the pistol