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| Image courtesy of Wikipedia |
Midnight Carolinas
through the midnight Carolinas
your first taste of freedom
is a breathless sweat
and blackberry lashes
fuel for the hounds of dawn
Head down the middle of the creek
towards the sea
a 50-50 chance at a good head start
all you need
a fighting chance
to build a raft
and to head north
but there is no wood here
in your midnight Carolinas
where thick swamp meets the sea
sucking off your tattered shoes
leaving your blistered toes to the leaches
of this unknown land
washing your face in the surf
Romarong is in the glistening foam
but how far across
to your wife's family
who would be grieving if they knew
of her death
at the hands of white devils
run north keep north and low
pitter patter bare feet in the sand
along the tree line
under a cruel moon
dropping tears and memories
of her warmth and smile
only four months ago
before the end of the world
in a white man's hell
the gods are watching
they will carry your tired frame
the god of sand and sea and fog
the god of grief and torment
the dung beetle spirit
rolling a ball of misery and servitude
into the shit of a thousand wasted lifetimes
and you weep for the toiling
of your brothers and sisters
but you must leave them now
and get back home
somehow
across the great sea
convince those remaining to hide
and go deep and deeper into the interior
to live with the lions and hippos
under the bellies of crocodiles
or as dust on the butterfly's wings
through the midnight Carolinas
ragged and marked
drunk on adrenaline
an evanescent peace
pissing on the writhen
palm tree
palm tree
they would surely hang you from
