Poem: Fruits of Labor

We were sold on the idea of labor of the hands
And from the labor of our hands we would rise
That was the myth our parents told us as kids
We now tell it to our kids because the machine
Of production is hungry and it needs more

Poem: Harboring Reservations About Freedom

Standing at the edge of the harbor
Where pretending with cold noses
We could smell English tea sinking
To the bottom set to a chorus
Of wild freemen cheering revolution

Poem: Three Boxes

When a box of bullets is cheaper than food
The lines between a good and evil blur
Through hungry eyes that starve for justice
My people clamor for succor at the well