March 31st, 2020 I’m (a) 40 (oz of fear) (after nichola torbett after bayo akomolafe)

In Kansas

The storms

Are watched from porches

With pride

Potential projectiles

Stabilized

Grasslands watered

In case of lightning strike

The belly of the beast

Has absolute center

In a portal to oz

So

On my porch i sit

To stare 

Death in the pouch

A crumbling decay

That has festered far below the surface

Where bottom feeders dwell

Where the spirit of Olokum

Communes with drowned african ancestry

Crippled with legions, Babalu Aye’s possessions

Are crushed in a cop owned dump trunk

And even the wealthy

Are bowed beneath the hand of pestilence

Ain’t gone be no more crumpets and tea

No more flights of fancy

No more self-help motivational speeches

No

This is the time of the storm

Let that sink you

Let the old you die

And be young again

ashe