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February 26, 2005

Casey was not killed by a bullet

I am sitting here, hoding my hands,
The taste of cigarette, bitter in my mouth,
Asking myself, if Casey knew, after the last blow,
Did she wake up smiling that morning,
Did she hum a tune in the shower,
Did her hair glisten in the light,
And her blue eyes radiated with life.

There is a deliberate anger to this city
A quiet shame, that does not walk uptown,
Does not wear tuxedoes, or hail a cab,
There are plantations south of Bronx,
And Harlem is where, slabs of meat
Are cut from the bones, and young Chicanos
Look for their names in deserted basketball
Courts, as weed grows within the cracks of their skulls

Casey slept with the Black man, she
gave herself to a Latino, selfless
She opened her wound to a Hobo,
And drank 100 proof, with a
Hooker named Bob, on her
Knees, gapping mouth,
she wellcomed their shame,
And housed their pain, she
Stood by the MET, and stared,
Taking her clothes off, one by one
And stood bare, as the City watched.

There is a quiet Heresy growing here,
Inside the Churches, silent moves,
And stays, Behind the alters, young boys
Are raped and blessed by Holly water,
Cock mouthed, bent, violated by
Priests, wearing Calvin Kline underwears,
Hiding their hard penises.

Casey got her best lay, pinned
Against a wall by the wall Street,
And after she was left with a twenty
Dollar bill, she cried, for she had never
Been paid, not by the Latino, the Black man,
Or the Hobo, But the White Man in Pin Stripe suit
Had to pay her, to seprate himself.

Something in her blew to pieces,
She yellped, and asked the every day withnesses,
Am I not your daughters, sisters, mothers, or sons,
They turned their back, hailed their Yellow Cabs,
Waiting for the morning papers, to tell them, how they felt,
Casey Was Not Killed By a Bullet.

Posted by Idinraha at February 26, 2005 02:56 PM

Comments

Very taking! Oh how I wish I could just go away. Far, far, far away from all life's nonsense.

Posted by: Maryam at February 27, 2005 04:45 PM

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