we were dressed
in clothes woven by
a weeping world.
wrapped in shame
we shed them.
this is not sin.
I celebrate life while people cry, die, demonstrate, tweet defeat. As I breathe so I want for my children just like a mother in Aleppo, Flint, Palestine, Iran, Afghanistan, Incarceration on a Reservation wants for hers.
Blessings are cursed with complicity. I sing a song for me and for us all to be Free.
To love and be loved is sweet sorrow a prayer for another tomorrow.
slaves paths paved
fathers founding free
ejacular college lock her rooms
dark sons dark daughters dark secrets
times three over five equals
Will your children drink when the supply
of plastic bottles runs dry
and floats in a dead sea,
devolved from you, me
and the idea of private property?
Thanks to A Gathering of the Tribes for publishing my “Letter to Pedro” at http://bit.ly/2bi3ZGI While you’re visiting Tribes you might also like to read Danny Shot’s review of Pedro Pietri’s Selected Poetry at http://bit.ly/2bEZAvs
hold breath hold life let it go know death choose to breathe
cooking cultutivating creating living for a living
coming coming going mostly flowing
game of fiher crackhers set two self destruck
core poor writ of sell fee texts your eyes web of lies
dreading what we insist consists our pursuit of happiness
date a version share her pro file
previous fictions of imachination
blues black private prison attrition politician
work hers wanted 4 insure rent sam pain
damage done precedes the gun we have so far to come
you can’t run from bullets
make haste for future reference
the rent was paid their homes condemned
freedom for some is freedom for none
be seen looking into real eyes