What had happened to him
in a past life?
Prelude or prelim.
Primmed up in 05’
rollin’ snake eyes
on a black die.
Hearing sirens
roll-by
scared to shit,
focused on a prize.
“I would advise, you boys to keep moving.”
Refrain from goofin’ or improvin’.
“It’s late past curfew.”
A profile constructed from rear-view.
“You match the description.”
Depiction turn infliction.
The way his attention hits
the corners of his pupils,
and the back of a baton.
The way it plays out like a ritual,
ode to a Black swan.
The removal and renewal
of another soul.
Youthful yet brutal,
symptom of the patrol.
Pig dice, skunk, and beetle.
When murder turns legal.
Take the power from the people.
More funeral chords
ring out of the cathedral.
Corrupt courts and lords
make death look regal.
Red blood on the steeple,
and a blind eagle
flies overhead.
MLK once said,
“If you can’t fly, then run”.
It’s funny.
He musta’ not been on the
peering side of a gun.
Behind a badge and a number.
Heartbeat like drum.
Neighborhood like slum.
Torment like numb.
Gravestone like son.
What had happened to him
in a past life?
That made him wince at the sirens.
That turned his anger into silence.
What made him cut his hair,
and afraid to repair.
What had happened to him
in a past life?
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