"Black America"

I was attempting to complete the poem "Punk Bitches" when I hit a little snag in my creative road. I think I got about 8 more lines out before I hit the wall. But be assured that I am still workin on it. In the meantime heres and older piece...(hopefully I can be done with this by next week sometime)...

Black America (Pimpin' & Trickin')

It's July
and blurry ghetto heat
moves along the street...
Niggaz wit cornrows
sit on dirty ass stoops
and talk bullshit about
how much pussy they been in and who's next.

Heavy bottomed girls
jump double-dutch
while gettin whipped in the face
with their own hair that cost them 150 each
and seven hours...
Tisha is the best.
Her feet bounce tribally
as the boys watch her ass from afar
and yell bittersweet 4 letter
words in her direction--sweet cuz that's the only affection she's ever known
and bitter cuz that affection led to 2 a bump & grind session without protection
and now
she's infected...

Old grey men
sit on milk crates
and hum old blues tunes
from way back when we were colored.
Tho they're happy
they never smile
cuz in their time
they heard of a boy named Till
who whistled
and smiled and...u know the rest..
So they just nod
and shake their head in disgust
at Generation X

A sophisticated Negro,
the abbreviated kind,
drives his imported car
down the concrete jungle streets
in caucasoid safari gear...
indifferent and
seemingly in fear of
the animals
in the cage
that he escaped from...
His blackness feels good
since his check
to The Urban League cleared...
Tho he's going 55 in a 35 zone
he feels the need 2 lock his doors
since these hood niggaz are known to have the superhuman
ability to teleport themselves
into your car--fuck acceleration
cuz it's a well known fact
that niggaz are genetically predisposed
to defy the laws of physics....

A storefront preacher
orders drinks at
jook joints...
1 for him
and another
4 his boyfriend
Who sits silently
in the faggot-proof pews
on Sunday morning
as the hell, fire, and brimstone
is spewed
and fat women
with intircate hats
scream HALLELUJAH
and fall out in the aisles..
Same time
Every Sunday....

Off of Main Street
in a small 1 room
section 8 apartment
A brotha beats his
baby's mama because he lost his job
and he don't know how to deal with the
rage
and she never learned that
love, love, love
don't equal a black eye..
Goodbye...

Goodbye 2 your sanity
Brown people
as you chase after that
spoiled golden egg
called the American Dream..
Flossin' wit yo chips and whips and thangs with
none of our names enscribed...
Living a dual existence
as pimp and trick--mind arrested and incarcerated--
depressed--
suppressed--
hopelessly oppressed--
and bound to die at
55
because of the stress...
Impressed?

We've been sleeping
and it's time...
We don't need a leader.
We don't need another liar disguised as the messiah.

We've been sleeping
and it's time..
It's time....
It's time 4 Black America
2 wake the FUCK up!