Utah
I always wonder
why the crowd runs.
my homegirl be like, “OK, kill me, sure, but not by accident, for some shit I actually did.”
at stake is something like well-wishes,
or weaker response to fear operations in the world, should
a killer be a type, well,
I keep the blicky locked tight for safekeep & I only
killed a hawk once,
& with a rock
for eating my friend.
Beanie Sigel, Desert Eagle, the four-ty five blasting
at the barbershop, good feeling
& Joy got
that toy Taurus G2C riding passenger, pops
had a P90 & lil sis pulls the M&P
from her purse; big bro tosses
me the green Glock 19,
so he can change the baby’s diaper.
that’s never made sense,
a child asks, with his hand stuffed in a groundhog puppet
if I ever killed somebody at war. &
I never caught a body, though
I do be tryna watch
my mouth
