knees

KNEES



My words are knees

to mash your throat

for eight minutes and forty-six seconds.



Let us celebrate the common sense of my knees.



My knees deliver

gifts for the love you demonstrated

when you stole us,

when you dislocated and sold us,

when you raped us,

when you branded, whipped, and mutilated us,

when you demonized us,

when you mind-fucked us,

when  your skin lynched us

when your skin made us daily targets for malice,

for your insanity, for your absence of humanity,

for the twisted pseudo-sexuality of your desires.



My knees worship no gods,

reject the abject futility

of charity, the madness of faith,

the impotence of hope that fails eternally.

My knees flush the excrement

as faux-democracy diarrheas.



Let us celebrate the common sense of my knees.



My words are knees

to mash your throat

for eight minutes and forty-six seconds.

You must die to understand

the ethical ambiguity of knees.









Jerry W. Ward, Jr.         6/9/2020 6:36:27 AM