freestyle on Sal Williams after the beat

pain is wrapped in cellophane
and slapped up across my brain
the prow of my big brow of the
ship on my hip and the
wave on the pavement in your face
is the face of mine enemies and my
friends that have drunk from the mother's
milk of life and the milk that is squashed
by the meat marketers of the damned
by the ticket counters
by the front line mangles
by the doped up flyers
by the little ladies in your Sunday spires
by the peephole that won't be seen
and the naked flesh
that we sell in front of the candy
at the local grocery store
is the pain that is freshly squished
for the fruits of the filth of
the pornographic cameras

w.e.Campbell – © 8/24/2006