Time Harvest Rights

Them fools got me again!
Que jodido!
Wrapping your mind around the totality of a gangster mentality shouldn’t be such a
formidable task, right?
So why all the bullshit?
In the next time, after this time, when the scales are recalibrated
should I really still be here?
I guess that depends on according to whom.
but thank God for irony.
Tribal warrior from amongst the peasant
Public Enemy Number One Cholo.
Genetically equipped to survive small pox.
Emotionally stunted to perpetual teenager.
Acculturated to hate myself with a blind passion.
After a decade of rehabilitation,
over and over and over
I finally get it.
I guess I wasn’t before
but now
I’m habilitated like fuck!
From all the things I’m not allowed,
the solitude of the box to which I was
The many Brown officers
adding insult to injury.
Like underline, accent, and exclamation point
To complement the absurdity of this
European desmadré!
I’ve seen the error of my time,
I’ve pondered,
Dwelled on,
And made my peace with it.
But enough about the plank in my eye,
Let us discuss the spic in yours.
For all my bragging rights,
and concussive head injuries
I slowly but definitively realized what’s
I don’t want to deprecate actual events
for the sake of a
killer’s poem
but what if I was tyrannized into selling
drugs to my own people?
terrorized into an addiction to terror,
bulldogged into being a soldier,
not by one individual
not by many per se
but systematically broken down by departments
by their agents
by their agent’s agents
by pigs in wolf’s clothing
and the bitches are no better.
What if I was hypnotized?
Seduced to valuate an ethereal shot at
over my very humanity
over my closest approximation of religion.
I was alright til they started taking my time.
In our present age
the Sun of Motion established harmony among the
four elements.
He gifted truth to a world in which time
became spatialized and placed in terms of the
four directions.
What if I said an enemy is stealing this time?
What if I told you an enemy has devised a
system of labels to administer a time machine,
a slavery machine where time seekers sabotage familia
for the good of
Remember when we used to say
“Get yours!”
Like as if
to be
is to acquire things.
Look out for number one.
And I bought into that shit too
for a time.
But what if I told you this shit out loud?
What if I bemoaned my stolen time like a wailing mongrel
hit by a truck
bleeding out on the side of the road with a
broken hip
I am responsible for my time
perhaps not as much as the time managers
would prefer
but never-the-less accountable.
vatos don’t know how to do their time anyways.
while we’re on this royo
I guess what I’m trying to say
I’d like to report a crime.