Wings Express God (Back in the Bag)

(from Blues in October)

Back

in a familiar bag

Midnight consumes the Titan

The Adriana sinks off the Grecian coast

(No protests yet)

The talking heads keep talking

virtue signaling

exhaling fake outrage

stuntin’ for the Book

stuntin' for the Gram

CRT exposes White innocence

White anxiety

White mythology

Angry rain pelts black pavement

like a child trying

to get back her lick from yesterday

trying to get back her lick

from yesterday

Five minutes ago

the sun leaned over

blue and white

buildings

in a semi-secluded community

like they owed money

out here in these streets

I adapt

to the changes

as the day checks

its temperature

measuring

its own volatility

like a human navigating

social pressures

chugging prescription meds

to balance

an odd body

bathing teeth

and blood

with caffeine

hanging his head

allowing his agenda

to flood his mind—life stays

bluesy (Monk is on the melody

Monk is on the melody)

I craft verses

change lanes

without signaling

without any hands on handle bars

without any cares

without any tomorrows

Tomorrow is not promised—

The preacher says Amen

The preacher fears sunlight in my mouth

The congregation says hallelujah!

This is just a familiar bag

a familiar bag a familiar bag

yes/ just a familiar bag

This ledge defines character

Eyes defy conformity

Wings express God