some people want to be on the scene
to be seen.
but to be unseen, yet visible,
the anonymous no-body …
who is everything but anonymous.
yet in fact, this how we sometimes sum up
what it means to be black, Jack.
always in the background – even when in the foreground.
cast into the shadow at the suns highest height – like Michael Brown.
you always think it can’t happen to you …
until it happens to you.
until those guns start clapping at you.
no applause – no just cause – just because.
… and you still remain unseen …
in these everyday scenes of the American Dream.
I mean I don’t profess to know everything,
or anything …
we’re all grasping at invisible strings
when trying to figure a cure for this psychological terror.
it really doesn’t matter who’s the prez
black and brown still end up dead.
and when you’re on the rez …
your suffering really is unseen …
no spectacle to create a receptacle for understanding.
historical, ongoing, trauma.
but, here’s the stick …
or the knife in the back.
though the suffering is upfront
we still lay in the back.
always the shadow, never the window.