the morning quakes

the morning quakes at the breath of a black yawn

sometimes i wonder if we are all jogging towards becoming a hashtag by we i mean black peoples my peoples, soul worn runners laced up brothers the gun shoots the hymns of plantation memories on your marks, get set— go, go back to where you bloody came from, bodies they form knocking arms on wombs begging to be saved from by bodies i’m talking black bodies my bodies i’m talking justice for *insert name here* bullets for skinfood picasso stroke for this mood—blue, nah actually, purple black and blown away spit disdain at gods at ask why i woke brusied again by i mean black! i have a dream then i sleep and have the same dream again— the only cycle left un-whole, pew, pew, pew— bullet holes my dears reduced to deers. niggas sealed in bambi’s fate, forest firearms and white men playing games get the gat get the gat get the gat let that finger itch till the scales turn flat let the mourning quake at the breath of a black fawn! Miracle Okereke