Four Poems – Julian Randall

the homie:

DRUNK IN A MIDNIGHT CHOIR

455notoriousbig

Fuck Tha Police: a Family History in my Father’s voiceI overheard your mother saying she more hood than me fuck that. now your mother she from Washington Heights in the 60’s she season all her food with things that sound like blood but she don’t really know what blood sounds like. She’s never seen an entire city bus implode from the first sound of some nigga’s throat or the weight of his finger on a boombox and then every- thing howls chaos a storm of tense flesh craving nothing but escape and only finding more maze and everything that does to bones. Which is an arthritis I picked up in St. Louis. so what I’m saying is that your mother isn’t Black Doesn’t understand blood Not like I do Every night I pray to every god that I haven’t outgrown that she never has to but she’s got you…

View original post 488 more words

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s