The Rebirth of Fashion

When fashion takes a break it sits down and takes a picture.

Monday, January 08, 2001


In the beginning
there were shackles
strapped to my ankles
blood dripping
from the tightness
no aloe vera
just dirt and water
forming mud to heal
my wounds
my hands tied with twine
dipped in acid
not boric
smelled strong like turpentine
wallowing in the depths
of the south
filthy taste forever
will lay in my mouth
buried up to my neck
defecating on my head
I ask the lord to protect
my mind from vengeance
and to forgive those
who not no what they do
but in this case
is was clear to me
that I was truly the enemy
the color of my skin
looked upon as unfriendly
but never harmed me
as each lash from the whip
left a scar
but healing instantly
less not I forget
my soul my spirit
my body my heart
can you feel it
finger split
so the flies can sip
my testament
taking away my vision
making it extremely translucent
what am I to do now
what is my purpose
surviving this
the torture
the interrogation
linking the strength to OSIRUS
thoughts seen in the air
as my AFRICAN history
is no longer a mystery
thoughts plastered
meditation mastered
as I'm a jewel
from beginning to the end
that can never be


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