The Late Bloomer
Patriotic purple prisms into Blackapino brown and dark green. Stalks of sugar cane reach toward redemption in the shadow of the Gilded Gate, while Bay Area belief bandits lie in Roy G Bivouacs, camouflaged. Phallic fantasies and Pharaoh fallacies shower my people as they grow. Petals of Prozac and Seroquel threaten to drown out the light, but I, obsessed with the green goddess, giggle and scribble incoherent whispers from the space in-between. Seeds of salvation or damnation, who knows? I’ll just water the plants when I can, cause the way things are, niggas can barely afford to pay attention.
Night shades bleeding hearts
Summers sun flowers flames ’til
Chrysanthemums bloom
The Write Way to Die 