A Bottle of Orange Juice

In the pulp of the ghetto
Spilled a secret like that of Snowden
Without the spirit, man is garbage
Man is matter, that’s all
and that is the matter
When we ignore our Calcium Brothers
Or the Ruby-Reds
Or the Papaya-Guavas
Orange-Mangoes with Boba
It’s all good, my friend, it’s all good

Somewhere
In the pulp of the ghetto
Is an acid stain
On all of our hearts
A crimson N across our chests
Neglect, Nigger, Nothingness
Whatever
Orange bleeds too
Out damn spot?
No, these stories must be told

Your reflection broken by the shame
Of the extra pulp that sits at the
Bottom of the bottle
Shake it up, mix it up
Taste the goodness
Let it sit and
Your last gulp is the bitterness
The crimson N
That clouds your image

The last gulp that sours
As you choke Life’s last gulps down
Gurgle up froth, a grotesque fermentation
Of God’s Goodness she wished to purchase
The dollars, in her “N-stained” hands
Sit…
Sit…
Sit.

The dollars in the hand of a dead girl
Buys not the Orange Juice in this damned world