i have awakened
from my dream world
of reactionary flowers
and have clothed
myself in fibres of liberation
upon my head
i have placed
the garland of revolution
     Poets spoke
     of wars
     and brothers
     away the time
     and all i could do
     was speak of
     white roses
     and daisies
     crosses were being burned—
     justice was being denied
     bullets were stilling lives
     and yet i marvelled at
     flower gardens
of Don Lee, Ameer Baraka, Giovanni, Pfister
          and others made
     my rose petals wither
     and the thorns
     of the rose
     my finger
     and i saw real blood
i speak no more of white lilies
and the magnolias no longer smell sweet
my reactionary flower world
     is non-existant
     and i listen
     as the revolutionary
     Weeds of Reality
rap to me
and as the
last wilted flower
dries up in
the sands of changing times
i get my thing Together.
[click to view introduction]