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The Dwellers

by Victorious Belot
For the days bright as the stark pain caused by ruffian 
children slain for material gain; 
For the money-hungry kids who life off pain. 
Ain't that sweet?  Same hot buttered popped-corned feet. 
Now, I'm hyped; down for pain and "Whatever, 
Sister.  Let's do this like Brutus.  Hear me?" 
Day creeps like a thief in the night to steal 
Sleep from all them who pipe-dream Black Power... 
Black...pride will always live a loveless...Death 
Wrongs all right to the motherf'n bone-weary... 
residents...sleep heavy on spine-backed beds 
Fighting the cold with wallpaper blankets. 
Day gets up to rouse them from their weeping; 
To get up and stand still to chill with pelts 
Of mink on corners knuckleheads wear out. 
In the darkness with the heat of armed knights, 
Subnlight lances the flesh and soul shouts... 
"Black!".. boxes, uncurtained, stare like blank eyes.. 
Inside..of these stoned tenement tombs bake 
Ancient newborns..awake with far to cry.. 
"Mother!" miraculously has fed eight... two rooms fight and dress..Fly 
..high as 'sons psyched with starched psychedelics. 
Mother has 4 spouses who don't have wives. 
Fathers limp out of closets dressed to get ..Down 
is up!  In the clubs, feet boogie and get 
Down!! Go! Up the alley, over the fence, 
across the yard, and into the cellar. 
Quick! Quick! 
Split the lot. 
Stash the Eagle. 
And one got killed 
by a pig's bullet in the leg. 
of the bible sold on Sunday.. 
Mourning.. in the merchant's house, "Bingo!"plays. 
Hymns..resurrect gold form shallow pockets; 
Nuggets lint lent them when they gravely begged. 
All through the night after the long workday. 
Before..they stayed 
Out all night: Fucked all day. Scored mad shine 
to lynch thesmelves with shiny ropes. They think: 
Drugs,Sex.  And money.  Then ole HIV 
"Fuck the TV!  That's me." 
Cooped up and coached, many just watch TV 
But then jump up: "Fuck the TV.  That's me!" 
On these Somedays sermons poured and..Spilled. flows at the picnics like piss on mattresses. 
There's "Thank you, please's" for chickenheads 
and cornbread and 
phat backs 
and potato salad and 
macaroni and cheese. 
And gizzards and the castrated. 
Couples kiss, lounging under shady clouds.. 
Above ..on roofs     of storied   roach 
motels    are Scarab..    of beetles lay   there 
on the tarred beach of grains of goey 
sand.  dweller    puffHyd     ro and 
zone  out the    hazy, sea    side ho- 
rizon  that dawns with the shimmering heat 
of Kn   ight, spill    ing its      blood 
'round    the ole    wide world-   that 
grind   wheel  that sharpens the lances of 
light    every one,  every   where   feels.. 
Blessed are the roaches who die like flies- 
Nawh! Hell, nawh!  Nigga, we mutiply!