Childishness in Three Parts

Part One:

There is a look a child gives a parent

Knowing disappointment wafts from the sweat in his armpits

Pungent in the room from the effort dedicated to his deeds

The child is old enough to know better, yet doesn’t

He stares at his feet, looks at the wall

Knowing the damage done implodes into the self

A boy takes what is not his

Commands who is not in his employ

Breathes the haughty draught of conceit

Believing he is entitled the accredited bits of power

Accumulated in his meager pathetic years

To act like an adult chaining, whipping, enslaving

Like a cumulative error rippling the maturity of mankind

The soul of the world remains a child

Embarrassed taunting rage

The way a child wants to be reprimanded by his father

For the wrongs he knows he should have known better

Thirsting for the censure, the switch, crestfallen gaze

Part Two:

Any civilization that assumes the pride

To demote another as inhuman commercial stock

Pays in the spiritual loss of its divinity

One may say no living remain who were there

Blasphemy’s echo cascades through the privileges and detriments ancestrally conferred

Blues, jazz, hip hop, Soul, Bamboula rhythm cascading

From the Ivory Coast to Congo Square spirited in Houma Nation and Refugee African

That hijacked rhythm is why Elvis is a king of nothing

A pauper to Big Mama Thornton’s perspiration

Dribbling into a fraudulent pool on his Mississippi brow

Like the busted lip of an arrogant boy

Shooting the angel he beats who bites him

Blaming the fire in the bark on something other than the leash he assumes to apply

With righteousness as if he is above the court of God

Sniveling behind batons and gavels to extend harsher judgment into generations

To mask the guilt for doing so

Planted in a cotton-row mind of lies

The lessons of our existential divinity root in the darkest hues of our depravity

To see why a man can be so simple as to use his eyes to measure character

We witness our bestial futility flowering in the failures of our evolution

A badge calling the power-hungry from shadows to tremble fear

That the angels should be angry; the angels should want to smote the childish

With a righteous fist, the angels have chosen to sing, to dance, to make poetry

Yet nothing will change until the pride of privilege evokes the responsibility

Of drinking from humility’s cup in the interconnection of water and blood

Of what makes a man sweat on a summer’s day shingling a roof

Trying to protect his family from a hurricane ripping the Southland

Picking up a hammer and a nail knowing the system

That manufactures those tools, the truck and the fuel to the store

Is disparately shaded to teach humanity a lesson of the self

Maybe one day we will be humble enough

Part Three:

Seeing the military-industrial-prison complex for what it is

KRS-One echoes “the sound of the beast officer, overseer

Overseer, Overseer, Officer, officer, officer, over

You need a little clarity, check the similarity” to the new Jim Crow

The money picked out the corn rows is disparate arrest and conviction rates

For not only the same offense, but the idea that someone was offended

For the politics of pocket contents of where hands go and baggies get stoned

Like a reason that Louisiana has the highest incarceration rate on the planet

Small town sheriff’s getting daily tariffs

For housing the overseer’s criminally-minded barracks

Of mandated sentences to ensure heads in the beds can’t build them fast enough

Except for the dead that die in the frenzy of what a turnstile-mentality

Spins for hands out of view or up, don’t shoot the patient

Can’t fund a single-payer healthcare system, no mental-health

Wouldn’t want humanity to think clearly about the way information on pain is dealt

Inked out and stamped to Corrections Corporation of America, for profit facilities

This is red-state trickle-down economics of five percent of global population and twenty five percent of prisoners;

The man on the horse is still herding

Growth rats in a stock price climbing like a 1984 head vice

Orwellian Big Brother shed civil rights

Because in the end of a prison riot the man stabbed never happened

The nightstick is a cash register extending back to the judge with the clicker

Taxing progressively like a reverse income tax on being poor and black or brown

Whipped in a frenzy by Roger Ailes to bank the frenzy of the Fox chasing the Hound

Getting a lily audience to believe immigrants are raiding the coffers and

Big Brother is not him threating to take away their guns for the inevitable revolution

Big Brother knows is coming; so the Fox tells the dogs, be ready for the cause

Only the NRA is Big Brother’s private army fearful and willful

To help the upper put the germ of the idea that the middle need to stockpile bullets

To be wary of the uprising of the bottom

So the Fox shows the same damn tape of a street riot burning

Or an airplane crashing into a building, waves a flag for makeshift patriots

Sage Francis echoes “if after it settles if we’ll find who provided power to radical rebels   

The melting pot seems to be calling the kettle black when it boils over”

Terror alerts and the function of torture becomes sanctified behind public lies

Crank that broom stick in the anus; feed a man through his rectum

Water-board the gullet to become that which you proclaim to decry

Breathe the violence Martin taught us would perpetuate war after war

Never listened to a damn word the man said, but have the arrogance to put a moment

Of the man at the capital

Pick, you can’t have both, aspiring to a moral standard that severs the soul of our divinity

By recognition there is no separation only a one

Beating, dying, trying to breath with a cage of rats strapped to our head

Bargaining for some out, saying anything for a chance for it just not to be us

Take him, strike up Guantanamo, beat Rodney King, shoot Michael Brown

Asphyxiate Eric Garner and strip the oxygen for the world  

Stand there and say nothing in an ivory tower

Until fear is like kerosene coating a nation of childishness

Burning all of its roots to the Earth

Like a selfish enigma of forgotten love