By Tai Amri

i watched as the knife pressed her throat
slowly
deciding to deny
it was my hand done the cutting
her sap splashes my eye
blinding me to physical reality
where I see
our capture
my kin
our only sin is our ignorance
of our own occupation
the only demon
is our consumptive culture
that offers pan seared
babies in five-star restaurants
are we now too far gone
does any of us live?
enough to push
the god damned weight
off our standardized hatred?

look here
there are no marks on my hand
just the blood of the savior who came
In the form of 10,000 indians slaughtered in the congo

profile well
cause you never know the hell
you could be calling
when the bombs start falling on us
then will we realize
we are them?
or will we continue to flaunt our freedom
in our next visa purchase and another degree?
bringing us one step closer
to manifest destiny?

know who you are,
but don’t tell nobody
have anything you want,
except for freedom
and most important, heartily forget
that everyone of our ancestral lines
was raped, maimed, downpresed and subjugated
to get their u.s. citizenry
irish niggers, coons, spics, chinks, waps, japs, hymies
leave who you are in the old country
and be a drone
now ain’t you proud?