here

(at least) the pain is objectivised:

the bars // // //, the itchy-fingered shotguns

stalking prey from the mile high towers and walls,

that stark, Flesh charred electric chair,

the friendly cell mate who before your incredulous eyes

turns into a forbidden object of sexual desire,

the ballooning hordes of quite angry

young

black/latino/native american

peach fuzz faces

here

(at least) gangsters plot no mo’

– unless, of course, there be’s such con

tradictions as gangbanging, drug guzzling gangsters

here

in this painful concentrated camp of quite angry

young

black/latino/native american

peach fuzz faces

here

here

here

1972 - For the "Iceman," Eugene Lewis -

May his soul rest in peace

Written by Billy Hands Robinson