he's solid
he chilled his juice
soon as
his brown skin
filled in
to two hundred pounds of
hungry days lost count of
a dozen pets that went AWOL
loving women who
condensed the beatings
and swallowed brutality
with their morning coffee
lots of weekend uncles
and six thousand
one hundred seventy four
and a half days
confined to a city where
natural born color
defines your place
in the food chain

ciphered it all out
and the sum came up
big-time alienation
pro-active intimidation
pharmecutical recreation
and ONE
fuckin' big Indian
[on the street]
with an iceberg
on his back