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
