things of blood

I

Seems we all know how

   To do the European Death Dance

We’ve all perfected

    The skeleton rattle

As we skid down black tar rivers

  The green for ur skin tone

   After floating through ditches of cest

the red is the preferred tint

   Of sliced knees that long for play

The white what we sacrificed our souls

   For just a sprinkling inkling

The black is our teeth rot

   When we swallow too much refuse

the children watch the

 Absence of screams

And my eyes ask if

  Blood trophies can be bought in the same coke trucks

    Beneath the same peeled american flags

       That squash dreams in things of blood

II

A kid’s cry can be heard

  Echoing beneath rusted tin shingles

Ochre powder sheds

And flutters towards the sky

And black news scrape

    Hardened cowpies

    Through forced prayers

Fouling both water and air

    Through resistance

 The cock crows incessantly

    dogs eat themselves

And oil is caught between the wools

  Of unshorn sheep

Without favoritism

  How would stone walls lined with glass

    Ever know who to slice?

How would fences

   Know who to electrocute?

How would god know who

   Not to answer?