The air in the wind grinds your nostril into an

Ammonium confirmed compound of lost.

You do not choke and you do not falter.

A street with ghosts must only gather

A confederation of darkness, your skin

Kind is the first to assemble. Ghosts are whites

So even in this holy ground you’re discriminated.

You leave the one places that calls you son, two

Roads diverge in a yellow wood. You take none,

You take all, you cling to the illusion of righteousness,

You put your hand again, today, against all the odds

Yet, you cannot count yourself among your people

And you cannot clasp and not shake in silence —

So all the nights music, lay quietly before the soft

Lip of the broken town of ghosts and my kinsmen.