Power Play

Fuck, you bastard
I’ll wait till my lungs
shrink with a patience
drawn by outlines
of carved atrocities
sketches, painted faces
from colonial malfeasance
rebounded obloquy,
burning eye spy
a fish hook of empire
our death is bitten
with mud and spit
grinding away
an ink-stained
anger to a pinpoint
element of disdain.
so give me a fucking
light, now that
my knuckles
have warmed
up nicely.