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
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