Race-Packaging

An improvisational, open form
makes our trip into mythic detention
a united vocation for the individual
to become enveloped in and recall
our own echoes of open falling and forcing
into experience, so open to feel
like familiar emptiness.

Without the portable and inoculant joys
of seeing and breathing into and out
of the mist of forced retroactive distilment
where our glory is not recalled or seizing
upon entry.

There stands the silent precipice
for putative and remarked race-packaging
where only once with regretful tones
we hear the lost souls of ignorance
fall to the needs of persuasion
and tattered, shattered rainbows.

But he is not a rainbow.
He does not care that you stare in disbelief
or feel the loss in your heart
like a father with slurs on his lips
and an indifference that pushes you away
from the temptation to love him still.

Our fathers were not rainbows
or memories of stern gratitude
they were shepherds of stolen bodies
and enslavers in the Poseidon of history,
leaving on suffering in their path
and misery for the labors of others.

As we walk towards the belief
of a finer day with lifted minds
and poised solitude
we must recall with proper possessiveness
how we have come to know our neighbors
and friends and families.

While they package constructs
and mentor oppression
we can move to unaltered lines
in the fore-camps of justice
and lament the stone called songs
where our response is
an appraisal of the learned indifference.