Dedicated to Davey Bales

Path Of Demise

Lust in handling firearms

Angry mind siren calls

Shots ring out the loudest

After the sun falls

Night time is blood hunt time

Survival prospects slim

The path of demise

Is sought through him

Your very worst enemy

Looks similar to you

Bullets spent on men

This dismal world fears

Darker than blue

Ms. Death claims victory

Over people at each other’s throats

Sleeping boneyard on the hill

Crammed with the fallen, it bloats

Dedicated to Edward Vidaurre. [Chicano poet based in the American state of Texas, editor of Flower Song Press and coordinator of of the Rio Grande Valley International Poetry Festival]

Someone

I am someone

Single, Black, vegan, agnostic.

I am someone

Nowhere near a thug with a gun.

Fight with a pen, words so caustic,

Aimed at a realm gone psychotic.

I am someone.

Labels

B.I.P.O.C.—

Hearing that term

Sends me into shock.

B.A.M.E.—

No better.

Too damn lame.

People Of Colour—

Sounds patronising.

Try another.

Minority—

Definitely not.

Too alienating.

The labels

Higher learning institutions 

Think tanks

White-dominated

Society created

To describe me, the man w/ darker hide—

No, thanks.

I’ll stick w/ labels

More accurate:

Non-White.

Non-Caucasian. 

Non-European.

Those fit.

& throughout this planet,

We’re in the majority.