Eraser shavings leave me / racially tied. I'm tired and
need me / a bite of a figment of / positive dream-work in stone. /
and flesh. and / bone. Need out of fishbowls. / Need out of / the neediness. Crying
too often to / water America's walls; trying to rack up / currency while
beating drum cracks. / and fissures. / and grooms a canyon for me to fill.
Elohim crooning in Torah. Sudden death / to my brothers for cutting the / sound on
each other and / death to cocaine for such broken instruction. Who / did
we learn it from? Hoops in an / earring, a cup of blood. Who / do we look to
when white is the color of / Jesus and Jesus gon' ride for his brothers and / gun
us down? When might we find it / encrypted in spirit to buy ourselves / back from
the sickness? Why / be divided? Eggshells and tripwires, turn down the fire / we
aren't pyre. We’re not piñatas at / parties we aren't / to be tied to cars and / we are
not on wait to be freed and / we are not a trap house for your bullets and / that was not us in
Birth of a Nation and / we're not the thug of the country that we built – we are the / thumb
of a hand that couldn't form a fist to fight / us if we left the U.S. / Tonight.
Born and raised in the concrete jungle: Brooklyn, NY, Asante Keron Hamid is a college English major while tripling as an aspiring socially-conscious poet, all-purpose writer, and music enthusiast. His poetry will be published in The Ibis Head Review, as well as on The Perspective Project, both forthcoming.