The Place of Skulls and Bones

Acknowledge the fallacy of inflexibility,
And the danger of doctrine.
You rulers of the State,
Be disturbed not.
The coming of the King is antagonist.
He seeks no Earthly throne.

You have lived in sin.
The poor cry in your streets.
And you regard them not.
Your neighbors, who are they?
You have defrauded friend and foes alike.

Your hearts are far away
And set on gold.
Your priests have found
Upon The People burdens far too great to bear.
They live in ease
Upon the hard earned wages of the poor.
Your lawyers, your doctors, and your scribes
Are useless cumberers of the ground.
They are but mere tumors
On the body of the State.

They toil not,
Neither do they spin,
Yet they consume the profits
Your marts of trade.
Your rulers are adulterers,
Your rulers are extortionists,
And your rulers are thieves,
Whom regard not the rights of man.

And robbers ply their calling
In the Sacred Hill;
The Holy Temple you have sold to thieves;
Their dens are in sacred places set a part for prayer:
This is in the land of Skulls.

The Constellation of Identity Politics

For most,
Identity is tricky causing us to be picky.
I ask:
Precisely who am I in this 21st century?

Geography defines us in mysterious ways.
For instance,
At St. Lawrence the White girls says:
“Hey Black boy, can you be my toy?”
In Schenectady,
The boy is just a College boy.

Overt isms changes rage into purpose.
Some of them just can’t get past the surface.
It’s in their banality,
they can’t slight me;
The profundity of colorisms—
Not taken lightly.

Internalized realities:
Darks wont say, “Hello.”
Go to the South they call him yellow
‘Cuz’—like Cosby jiggling Jell-O—
He got properness.
W.E.B Dubois:
He called it a ‘double consciousness.’

Interracial mixes got Him stuck like misogyny.
Miscegenation is old school but still bothers me.
Ride this with me ‘cuz’
Psychologically He’s burning beneath the skin.
He got another reality posing from within:
The affects of abandonment.
Yup, the boy was adopted.

Take heed:
Dealing in a constellation of identities is popping,
“B.”
By putting them in the forefront no one is testing me.
It is My Destiny.
In spite of those realties,
Straight to the top,
No one is stopping me.
Those are my identities!

African-American: An Identity Crisis

Hyphenated Americans, How is that possible?
Outsiders assimilating to the Anglo- Saxon model.
So my heritage is rich in double consciousness.
Retention of our traits is on the top of the list.

The new world order:
Topped by omnipotence.
Dollar bill, y'all.
Forefathers: Guiding like four fathers.
Moorish mis-perceptions got us in,
Not of, society.
As far as the eye can see.
Most of these kids are blinded, 'B'.
But I got the 'I', you'll see.
We all just pawns promoting the grande design:
Common economic interests creating pluralism.
Seek; Divide; Conquer- spells Americanism.
Whiteness got schisms based on these wages.
Wedges competitions with emphasis on pigment.
I ask for a total paradigm shift for these ages.
If we're African-Americans, we're in an identity crisis.

Rectangular Prism

He's Shamanic, The Reptilian Birdman.
But, Mastodons proceed The Human.
Wild Beasts digest just like humans.
If ya never heard man, research.
A square system destroys the stone life:
Ripping away the consciousness of I;
Pictographic symbolism shows the life in I.
The order of life slipping like a verse.
Nation, Sub-Culture, I was here before yours.
Prehistoric figures in reverse.
He's tha Third, upstreaming backwords.
Try to decipher King James, rehearsed,
Line-for-line the human fabric delineates.

Astrology verses Astronomy:
A system against the individual.
Most of 'em are blinded, "B."
Something they don't want you to know:
The seven lost tribes of Israel,
Committing the seven deadly sins.
Irony got the world in a whirl-wind.
Rulers got subjects searching within.
Wisdom, knowledge, and understanding:
The core of a society is what they penetrate.

Words flowing harmonically.
Symbolically: Your Fired.
In fact, you were never hired.
Rectangles have no reigns over mine.
This communication is designed for time.
Who, What, Where, and Why?
Without that, don't even try.
Get in touch: Who you are, never forget.
Without context it is impossible to know the intent.

Judge me not. Icons mean nothing to me.
Not speaking truth: your nothing to me.
Eyes looking jaded, like he's back around?
Its something like a reader response:
The audience brings its own background.
Ha, ha, ha. They need to play they own part
This is a sophisticated portrayal of self and Art;
An aesthetic mediation between self and Art.
Subtle secrets in my words; Not in my clothes.
Rectangles story on a totem pole.