Blessed are the girls
and the tell-tale whores.
Your rotten bodies still bang under the floor
Spit at all the statues that stole
the land, the grief, the garden, the gold.
They’re clutching pearls;
like we’re loaded guns
moaning out warm poison
on a lover’s tongues;
Cocking back a black book
in the name of Christ,
You can call me the devil,
Just don’t call me your son.
All of my powers break the hold on the pleasure soured.
What’s there to say?
Don’t laugh-
Fight to breathe.
Raise your sissy fist.
Let ‘em know not to mess
with the queen bitch.
Pour whines in your honey’s mouth.
It takes color to scream and shout.
All power to the lips that pout.
The dolls, the dykes
the fags, the proud.
No peace. No poetry.
No liberation where you won’t bleed.
Bomb the profits, eat the riches.
All the mockers leave in stitches.
Women don’t sweat they glisten with truth.
Queer as gravity's rainbow coloring youth.
She’s stomping police!
A sharpened stiletto; she’ll do as she please cause
WAR IS YOURS
THE REST IS OURS
What’s there to say?
Don’t laugh-
Fight to breathe.
Raise your sissy fist.
Let ‘em know not to mess
with the queen bitch.
credits
from SG/SF DEMO,
track released February 23, 2023
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