is the vein within my form that thrives
the circuits of black anarchism
find it in a mottled hive
my dry bones are resurrected
by the river of blood that's shed
in fearless revolution, constitution
of the streets, of our prophets and our poets,
and the language that they seed
with the fruits of ceaseless struggle
from this shelf life to the next
to the pregnancy of gardens
and their green transcendent end.
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