PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

my new york blood
is rumbling
under my native skin
shaking the dust off from this town
while I'm heading into
the gnarled  roots within me
oh I'm sure I beat all the statistics
I'm sure I made all the statistics
they fit on me
and were sewn on like a
second layer of skin
I am just a patch work doll
you hold me by the ankle
and drag my stuffed body around
and all these geometrical shapes
they add up to a rape
amounting to the dust in the sun
the water I drink tastes like caramel
and the carcass is a barrel
I just shot myself again
in my travelling foot
and will the song of the sand
sing to me in my hand
or will it fade down with the circumcised sun?
my new york blood is rumbling
my native body tumbling
all over the streets
leaving just the lingering stench of alcohol
and if stumbling over my theories
leaves your drunken self weary
then why don't you just finish up 
and be done?
and if my status leaves me low
-well it was such a far way to go
from the innocence that 200 hundred years ago -go-go
was undone
and if Trudy only knew
well what would that white girl do
well now she's just a pancake in the sun