Baby I Scar; Draft #2

this one goes out to all the
hoodwinking evangelists who think
that I am not poor enough
abused rich crazy popular
assaulted burned victimized
whipped condemned sexy or smart enough
that I haven't been driven into the thick mud under my foot
a day after the rains
black tongues with burned black talk

do I not pay taxes to this great whirlpool windmill
feeding the rich blaming the poor
piss trickling down drain pipes leaking from decades long decay
and how
do I daily wash my hands clean when my people my color
my culture keep shitting in the shallow end
on the daily news acting like cannibals eating the hearts out of others

we are one and one are we, being that the verb goes singular to plural;
that's just how grammar works, maybe accident prone is fate's
mix of chemicals and colors in a meth lab
chipped pale red wood shavings cast sprinkled shadows in the cabin's far corner:
and funneled by leaky weather rain vomiting on forest green turned to brown
and rinsed away like so many earthly crimes.

Needle can I lick taste the bitter drugs before they rush through your veins
before I fall backward in a passed out slumber backwater night walk?

not dead I still have an opinion on what it must be like to die
I will fail long before and long after some celebrity is made famous
for dodging a question or a country is made famous for its lack of luck
dismal fate laid low sometimes in mind by us and everyone

And aren't I complicit in this machine as it
steals thoughts and body functions
takes or doesn't give back
leaves only lacking:
they have an inside deal on 22nd century eyeglasses.
they see in 3-d.

My skin may not burn but I scar baby I scar.