Under marsh and humidity,
Gripping the veins
of palm trees plus
Splintering weights of fugitivity –
The original escapees of tourist traps,
Black drink in tow,
Hold their blessings high of the swamp's
libations.
We let the humidity suffocate confederacies,
We let the scalping be turned into flames,
Flowing down the navel of English colonies,
The Cimarrón has a credit card –
A balance of 300 million.
Paid in full with Civil War.
Paid in full with General Gaines tears.
Paid in full with curses on whomever man grows here.
Paid in full with the broken mirrors of humanity.
Paid in full with boundless paranoia.
The first plus the last move here with fury never forgotten.
Fear buried over with interstates covering skulls of those
who cursed our world in their rituals.
Now every attraction constructed covers the blood poured
on alligator’s tooth.
Our joy now is with the charcoal we create,
As we burn your flags.
Desecrate memorabilia of self-proclaimed
victors on vacations,
Built by rows of pain.
Our joy sees through everything and bends humidity,
Finding breath at all costs,
We blur our joys in our
unforgetting.