Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Cloudy with a chance of trust














Here the sun's so scarce it seems sacred
Silver slides from the clouds like the crowd's initiation
The substance of congealed condensation and elation
The cold grey silence finally breaks in conversation

Recollection of these ruptures runs these streets like grace
Which means: renegade barricades and memories of your face
Which means: love, linked arms, not a coupled-off embrace
Which means: hip hop cypher-session picket lines in place
On point, at this port, this shore, and this trace
Of unexpected upheavals - wait! Don't wait

For the next sunbreak
we'll collectively create-

We're not sedate; we did it once,
so we can can  recongregate

Like: put your hands up if you can still relate
to the remnant of trust that survived all the mace
That shines through the spray
and the daily rat race

Is this what our elders used to call faith?