I dwell behind enemy lines
Where vines are smoked
The streets are coked
and bullets take flight over and over
over little or nothing
and little is said.
on the corner in the a.m.
quarts are cracked like heads,
as eyes turn red with inebriation
and men try hard to reverse creation
and decreate.

sirens swirl like the world on its axis
as ignorance rears its ugly head
my people dwell in the ghetto life
barely livin, mentally dead
more concerned with Jordan's buzzer beater
as the streets beat them dead
"nothing ever changes in the lives of black folk ."
I once heard it said
we remain the catalysts of
nothing, content to consume
as our nation is fed
nonsensical rhetoric
our situation is sick
where is our consciousness?
Semaj Divine