like melting pots suffer in statues. Time
to build a multicoloured bridge.
The eating of the asses makes Jesus
walk the plank, how else will nature take its course.
I sieve the minds of dead poets
dripping each organic mass, into my class.
Alive poets never had much say.
I am not gay so can’t write that,
I guess I have no standing for a fight.
I am white and rich and privileged
and love a blond.
I hate the summers more than winters gone.
Some how I put down my bong
and now I am trapped alone in words.