Look what I found!

Sometimes we find old pieces of writing and even though maybe we should cringe at it, there is a memory, a truth, attached to it that we just can’t shake.  

Swinging Fire

A nigger I am

A faggot always I will be

A threat to you

whites wanna hang

blacks wanna burn me

I suggest you do it

hand in hand stands the blacks and the hooded men

I am danger to all that you see

your blond little joys bend

down on their knees

sing praises to God

for my black rod

they will beg

to stay in my bed

and once you see

blond hair around black fingers

you will hang me

and as I swing

I will see

brothers, sisters and kerosene

never will they claim me

but some want to be with me

the light skinned boy adds more light

burning the flesh that made his hand wander

late in the night to places deep under

covers, sheets, silk and cotton

touching himself till she has been forgotten

and all that remains is this flesh

seared in his mind

sashaying down main street

pink feather boa trailing behind.

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