those not fit

one in three dollars, becomes one in ten dollars, becomes uncountable proud colored men shackled in steel collars.

your stackable skin targets become millions of men marching. becomes families within margins. where the skin ‘round the ribs hardens.

and pardon the near-departed who clearly took part in carving a good chunk of wealth for themselves and left us to pick through garbage.

we’re starving. you don’t know starving till you’re really fucking starving; till them thangs like hunger pangs and the sickening starts in. this isn’t, shit, i missed a meal, man I’m feeling so well; this is i’d rather fucking die if there was life in this shell

this is a fiction we can no longer afford. a known affliction that sickens, and yet we soften the sword.

we pile sticks upon sticks till we finally sticks in a torch, and i’m thinking, jimminy crickets, this shit’s just par for the course.

of course, i’m likely biased towards the guy in the porsche; but who knows he might be fond of fucking honda accords? who knows, we might swing by, say hi, and buy me a drink. then we’re in bed together, besties. he calls me jesse. i think.

black hood, bad luck in your black book. left your trust in of an off-track half thug. left to rust in the cold, cluttered cash fund. found you near tracks, dead, covered in your damp blood.

left your casket open to view. sold your ashes for pennies and the pulpit approved. a know assassin successful, and as for the rumors the clandestine abscess is now intestinal tumors.

yet another subtle two-minute tune; yet another motherfucking shiny sliver of truth. a slight annoyance in the finger, and you figure instead, we lay both wide open and the DA’s dead.

the echo’s beethoven, now the PA booms; the dear state’s taken over and our D-Day looms. the tea tastes slightly bitter, as the tyrant decides.

i’ll file now in the line,

and set a fire inside

i see death in the truth; i smell the rot on the breath of an infected youth. and, as men’ll tend to prove, where two tents sat beside, one tent will do

one fool’s remorse. one new world order. one former foe fucks his rival’s daughter. one senseless act. one member ill. one polled percent pulled with intent to kill.

one chord is stacked with dry grass and sticks. we hear the laughter of a guard in the yard at six. that laugh is the spark in the gas of tension; cell doors crash back in a dawn offensive.

daniel prude got scoped out, choked out; system fucking broke down. country just a joke, ‘cause a knee is a rope. what we need are the keys, and the deed and the vote. and we’re pleased if you simply just leave us alone.

air your grievances out; put some meat on your bones. now your legions is out with their heaters in tow. their allegiance in doubt, so you scream and you shout. now your demons are out, with the tweets on your phone.

it’s a white hood no matter which name you give it, whose head is in it; i spit on your pivot. i shit on your privilege; so handsome and brave. and if you’re cancelling life, i’ll gladly dance on your grave.

this is your son, joe. the ghost of waco’s awake, cause the hate just grows. it knows your name, knows your face, knows your faith ‘gon fold. so joe goes straight for the trachea; make me atone.

that’s why i stake it in poems. make no mistake, i know i’ll never face the hatred of those who’ll view me only as a color; other features aside. but i’m complicit in this shit if i’m not speaking my mind.

i’m from the CNY. swing down to binghamton, to buffalo; it’s the empire. head up to rochester, process the killing of dan. and then they wonder why it take a fucking million, man?

reptilian, man. from emmett till to philly to sac; from louisville to hoovervilles, we want our billions back. we want some motherfucking justice for breonna; ahmaud. for dan and george while fucks like manafort roll thick with the mob.

i’m sickened and i’m so fucking sick of this trickery. shit’s ridiculous; rittenhouse loads a clip and it triggers me.

and i’ve never done this shit for the figures, see –

the opinion piece was cute. that insider’s risking their hide. here come the pitchforks and torches, they might be buried alive. he might be nailed to the cross. she might be burned at the stake. or. they might return the second coming in this summer’s debates.

but wait. hatred is hatred, no matter which way you frame it. no matter whose name’s on the ballot it’s invalid and naked. stick your pin in as penance; leave your penis beneath it; burn all but one piece of the coal, on christmas eve you might need it.

believe it. if an army is backing away from their general, it doesn’t mean they’re disarming, it just means it’s inevitable they’re recruiting the latest cruzes, and putins, and pences, and whoever looks best in the blue suit is confirmed by consensus.

so bring the rexes from texas, erect a fence to leave the mexicans defenseless in trenches. since when are children contentious? since when are children the puppet pawns to be ripped apart and shit upon; don’t got a pot to piss in, yet prison is where they visit mom?

if this is civil, then civil war’s on the table, man. braggin’ about your grabbin’ and making fun of a disabled man. this isn’t fable or myth; this shits on cable every minute after minute. i admit, i’m knee deep in this shit; he can’t breathe, i feel sick. i cook one dollar twenty-five cents on the spit. what i need’s a new truck and a brand new tv. while millions of helpless american children are simply dying to eat.

repeat

millions of helpless american children are simply dying to eat, as our nation’s health care system’s aggressively failing the families in need. fuck me. fuck you. fuck luck. fuck truth. facts speak, truth lies; leaves lives brutalized. these eyes. this mouth. sees lies. sows doubt. so down, down we goes, backs so broken we’re touching our toes.

so many questions; nobody knows.

(god has my answers; i follow his lead.)

so many questions; but nobody knows.

(high atop mountains; leagues below sea.)

i got some questions.

i got some questions.

I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS.

i got some questions.

i got some questions; gimme some answers. let’s start with the flesh, kids, tell me about cancer. “well, everyone’s got it; you’re gonna get it.”

i don’t buy that shit for one fucking minute.

it’s not the intent of every tenant in every tenement to drink the water that welcomes the devil in. proves they’re irrelevant; proves they’re unneeded; i stand here with flint and i stand here unheeded.

and damn right i’m heated, but this about a three; at this level i’ll still take a spot of tea. this kid was locked out, then this kid found a key; it started with rage and ended with machine.

take my guilty conscience and all its contents, leave ‘em in a box labeled just a bunch of nonsense. nine-tenths of this shit is cluttered diamonds, the other tenth has got me diving into dives for longnecks.

strong men don’t make a better law man; oh, man, here we go again, down the road again, toe-to-toe with ten soldiers in their rovers with a rolodex: those opposed to feds? nope – those who choked on lead, either toast or close to death.

‘spose some men made some other men dig another hole, so cement could just cover them and claim another soul. ‘spose again there’s a government pulling undercover shit; like we elect you motherfuckers, now you’re on some other shit?

it’s punishment it seems, for our sins, for our clothes; for our tilt-back hats while they kick dad jokes. playing tick tack toe with our 401s, for these jobs that’ll last about four more months.

okay, boomer – you insert the tumors in our systems, then play victim while insisting this is rumors.

this ain’t spin. this ain’t lose or win. this is our little kids; this is our motherfucking livelihood till sandy hits again. till that brandy hits your lips and you think all shit smells but yours. and you’re so vain and bought and paid for you just sell it to the jurors. sure – what’s yours is yours, we heard. what’s ours is yours, we heard, as well; and still you herd and murder, never served a day within a cell.

fucking david couldn’t fell the size of creature we’ve encountered; he sleeps within our sheets, we kindly feed him at the counter. fake-ass counter-culture vultures, fuck, I heard about you back when zach de la rocha laid no shelter on a track.

and that, motherfuckers, is true bluff of the crew cut crew running through and they’re tuned up in the noon sun.

i admit, i am violent. i file in the lane. when admitted, bring a file in; defiling your cage. defiling my trial as only godly and gained. only knowledge attained was don’t leave college again. don’t repolish the same ol’ pile of shit. don’t smile or spit; don’t dial, the pigs do lie about shit. who’s buying the timber and tempers to set fire and let dying and silence remind us there’s no sirens?

your lynchin’ is so vivid. you live it and re-live it; your stars and your bars party to traitorous, starved armies. so stop with the pom-pomming, the confidence uncommon for soldiers who broke rank and daddy just spanked on ‘em. fuck, daddy done stomped on ‘em, but it was a false bottom; the lost cause brought scofflaws out with their scout dogs. the lost cause was, now, always about loss, you boss hoggin’ motherfucking murderous southpaws.

i pause.

for just a moment of rest. ‘cause no one’s holding their breath without a hold to their neck. need eric holder at best. need billy barr behind bars. our billy clubs will keep it barbarous; department of arms won’t even stand a fucking half a chance we’ll dance in the damp dawn with the savages; damned; damage is standard. damned; ravaged and branded, and grandstanded and granted in handshakes.

yet one drop; one knot;

product of the vultures using god and nazi quotes. commenting on culture like i’m ta-nehisi coates. and easy goes it motherfucker; keep it frozen when i drop. my privilege is a failure, but a failure i am not. and i will use this podium, and microphone to phone in shots. better yet, we hold the throne and so control the whole damn pot. and hold it hostage till the mobsters call their mans up for the dough, and while they’re there, we have their hands up and demand a little more.

ask not what you can do; these fucking fools, they spin us ‘round. yet we spin this shit on vinyl since it’s final in its sound. sound off, motherfuckers, ‘gainst a title, ‘gainst a crown, ‘gainst the vile who would like to see us lying in the ground.

i am bound and i’m determined, if a sermon’s what you need, i’ll be your servant, serving words and verses; surgeon with the beat. hurt ‘em with the fees; herd ‘em up; insert ‘em in the pen.

and we’ll reserve our pens for acts of treason when we meet again.

men first; what you fuckers heard? took a turn worst. nuremburg; seeking justice here, give us one term. yes, sir. yes, sir. in your debt, sir. sign your name on my death cer…

…on your desk, sir.

we’re living with surviving ghosts. setting fire to the tides off an ivory coast. what a lively host. what a life he gives. fighting life or death for my wife and kid.

i won’t bite the hand. i will bite the fist – and i will use my rights, please recite the fifth, because this shit’s in plain sight and indictment is about as sure as my motherfucking right to live.

i went jogging the other day. no issues. i mean, maybe a sore hip and the dog did some dog shit, but that’s all-in-all it. no doctors for this jogging impostor with the posture of a young matt damon claiming his oscar.

ahmaud went jogging the other day as well. and was shot dead. for being a black man in america. but, where were the sheriff’s cuffs? the stares and the shares will come. we’ll repair; we’ll declare we’re just. but, where to prepare to run when you’re met with a pair of guns?

olivia was volunteering at the polls. and was arrested four years later, facing fifteen years in jail, on bogus charges brought forth by the same DA who failed to prosecute the murderous mcmichaels. because she’s a black woman in america. her skin isn’t fair enough. her parents weren’t there enough. why does she embarrass us? why is she so curious? she makes us so furious. but, we know who the jury is and we take this shit serious.

breonna was sleeping the other night. sleeping in a bed in her apartment. and she was shot dead. for being a black woman in a hooded and crooked america. do you see a pattern here, huh? does shit even matter her, huh? sprinkle and spatter, empty the bladder. whole bunch of puppets corrupted in candor. up in the pulpit, these puppies do pander. kicking the bucket or kicking the can; a whole bunch of fuck-its, like nothing’s the matter.

kicking the bucket or kicking the can. i can’t. a whole bunch of fuck-its, like nothing’s the matter. i can’t.

i can’t stand it, i’ve fucking had it with these travis fascists. how can you fools not apprehend when the blood’s still on his hands, miss? its madness; echoes of levies and status, and yet these lemmings still canvas for men that don’t give a damn about them. and won’t give a damn about them. the moat is for family and friends. he spoke about draining the swamp, instead built a dam up for them. the damage is ramping up; now it’s camp versus camp, and as if it’s cameras vs candles, against these family-first vandals.

i can’t.

now it’s cameras vs candles.

i can’t.

against these family-first vandals.

i went jogging the other day. no issues. because i’m a white man in america. blonde hair and pair of chucks. flannel wearing till i tear ‘em up, and i can run errands with apparent luck.

no errant bullets, so fair enough.

i vote jared polis, so fair enough.

James Peterson / The Philadelphia Citizen / 6.19.20

Justice delayed is justice denied; or so they say.

Juneteenth, a day that should soon be a national holiday, commemorates the unofficial but actual end of slavery in these United States. The official end of slavery in the U.S. was Lincoln’s “Emancipation Proclamation,” an executive order issued on September 22, 1862, which did not take effect until January of 1863. This was just a legislative beginning of the end. Even the “Emancipation Proclamation,” better referred to as Proclamation 95, had a built-in delay.

Lincoln’s Proclamation 95 was not exactly emancipatory either: It legally changed the status of nearly four million enslaved Africans in America, but in reality, the enslaved remained captive under Confederate control. The Confederacy was desperate to defy the Union and maintain a way of life predicated on Black subjugation, unpaid labor, torture, rape and murder. It should make us all wonder why and how mid-20th century confederate monuments are just now being brought down in town squares across America.

In 1863, tens of thousands of enslaved Black people were immediately impacted—liberated—in the Confederate states that were under Union control. Our nation’s Civil War was complex and brutal, with over 600,000 fatalities. And slavery could not end until the Civil War did.

In order to ensure that abolition was complete, President Lincoln made the legislative push for the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment which ended legal slavery in the United States on December 6, 1865. Just another delay in the racial justice delayed to Black people in America.

However, as Michelle Alexander, Ava DuVernay and others have pointed out in film and literature, the Thirteenth Amendment’s “dirty little secret” was that slavery was still legal for those who were incarcerated. This should make us all wonder why and how in the 21st century, America incarcerates more of its citizens than any other nation on the planet.

Juneteenth is the oldest national commemoration of the end of slavery. It marks the day—June 19, 1865—when Union soldiers brought the good news to enslaved Black people in Galveston, Texas, that the war was over and that Black people were free.

That it took six months and 13 days for this news to reach all of America is a telling microcosm of Black life in the United States. How brutal was the Peculiar Institution for those who labored in it for six months and 13 days after the ratification of the Thirteenth Amendment? How many died from the brutality of chattel slavery in those six months and 13 days? How many Black families were crushed and decimated during that six-month and 13-day delay? How tragic was it for those who were so close to the finish line of freedom?

Juneteenth represents the enduring legacy of Black folks’ fight for liberation. And yet, Juneteenth is also the epitome of American denial. It reflects all of the ways in which racial justice is systemically delayed for Black folks.

This week, Mayor Jim Kenney announced that Juneteenth is now designated as an official holiday for the city of Philadelphia. According to Mayor Kenney: “Now more than ever it’s critically important to acknowledge America’s original sin of slavery—something we as a nation have never atoned for. The only way to dismantle the institutional racism and inequalities that continue to disenfranchise Black Philadelphians is to look critically at how we got here, and make much-needed changes to the governmental systems that allow inequality to persist.”

Given Philadelphia’s place in American history—this nation’s first capital; the home of the Liberty Bell—it is only befitting that this city’s leaders honor the liberation legacy of Philadelphia in a way that leads the nation on issues of racial justice and racial equity.

In 1780, the state of Pennsylvania passed the “Gradual Abolition Act,” the first legislation in the United States of America that was passed to emancipate enslaved Black people. But once again, the delay was built into the process of liberation. This act did not immediately free any of the enslaved in the state of Pennsylvania or the city of Philadelphia.

In the late 18th century, 15 percent of Philadelphia households enslaved Black people. The Gradual Abolition Act of 1780 only afforded liberation to the children of those who were enslaved and even then, those children “owed” 28 years of enslaved labor to their mother’s “masters” before they were “free.”

As revolutionary as the Gradual Abolition Act might have seemed in 1780, it delayed liberation for a generation and a lifetime. Similar to Proclamation 95, the Gradual Abolition Act embodied the delay of justice even for the children it sought to emancipate, but it also provided a glimpse of the marathons for freedom and liberation that lay ahead for Black people in America.

Historically, racial justice for Black America has been on/in constant delay. Juneteenth is our national day for critically commemorating the facts of this fight for freedom. But the fight for liberation is enduring and exhaustive.

It is a series of marathons that requires a relayed approach wherein the batons for freedom are passed from one generation to the next; from one leader to the next; one teacher to the next; one organizer to the next, one activist to the next; one liberator to the next. Our liberation has been delayed, but our liberation relay will run forever.

Juneteenth 2020 marks a critical juncture in our liberation relay. Given the racial health disparities on painful display in this moment of Covid-19; and given the unceasing brutal murders of Black women and men by the state, Juneteenth 2020 will be more widely and publicly celebrated than it ever has been in its 155-year history.

This is a good thing. Happy Juneteenth to ALL. Let Black liberation ring everywhere and know that though this relay has been hard and long our legs for liberation remain strong. And we run ready to pass this baton onto the next series of freedom fighters.

James Peterson is a writer, educator and consultant, and is host of Tonight on WURD, a nightly news program on WURD, Philadelphia’s only independently Black-owned radio network. He authors The Citizen’s Color of Coronavirus series, which is supported by the Pamela and Ajay Raju Foundation.

we begin where it all started - in our own backyard.

these are cysts. these are peasants. too sick to resist.

just one slice of the throat. one less peasant at risk.

one less slice may suffice, may the peasant earn their worth.

in the darkest fields of chartered yields;

bless our bullets, they’ve dispersed.

(flesh we’ll call it; they’ve a term)

in the hardened fields, their father kneeled.

three years. much has changed. much remains the same. 

we play chess, forever sifting the facts from the truths.

solidarity,