Lil Boy Fool!

By Joe (Okera) Valentine
12-14-2010

Life... done slipped on by or was it dumb I by cesspool moves who slid and fell in this horrid well as I failed to come to my damn senses on this rapid time-scale... Snap outta that deep slave spell, set sail to avoid a monotonous hell which I dwell called a cell with an existence that truly pales sorrily next to those strong and wise brothaz whose pails overflow... not wit' sorrows of wasted yesterdays nor hopeless tomorrows in filled jails - I never had the luck to make kidnap bail - but wit' optimism's treasures that swell... my teachers of love tried hard to tell.

All in vain, I proclaim, years down the drain of shame... slain by a fast-life movin' train on a callous irresponsible rail which I attempted blindly to travail so I might cross out of ghetto-hell Watts where I railed at the Nickerson Gardens Housing Projects deprived plight and made poisonous PCP and crack for sale... Now I complain with radical tears of rain since I know not shining fame which illumines in glory like a halo above the head of a father whom took the time and gave the pain to care for those born of his name...

That privileged hourglass sand slowly pouring away as time drifts on by as I played the silly gangster game... shot the loaded dice which rolled snake eyes staring at stupid I, mesmerized and perplexed as to how and WHY, the lil boy fool, who once loved school, got swept up in the trap that be the grind and lost in the pool of other immature minds who thought it fly and cool to watch from the sideline the days and nights pass unproductively right on by... Under the dominion of those who've too traversed the line, wrote and broke the codes by which they rule... now they're on a road designed to ride them down a path of mental and moral ruin as they, too, like the idiot follower of the lost gang, you and I, are not in real control.

Too many moons gone unseen for I've been entombed in this room of gloom... walkin' the balance beam... a tightrope which some have used for suicide since crises ever looms - if I slip, trip or fall - warring against insanity that seeks to crucify I soon and resurrect me as the prophet of loons and buffoons.

The dark sky has been seldom seen and when I stroll through the night barb-wired electric gate yard I have strange feelings that my fearless body is the certain target of prison guards' carbines with that infrared light... me in sight... since I've seen how for a simple fight how the fire explodes and races as a stream of death for friends and foes alike whom waged battles to halt the unyielding flow of sorrows unheard by a society of fascist souls... so we grow distant and old... as many won't choose to break wide from the slum mode as they go on and on tellin' played out hood stories, told and told, in extreme cold...

Where a chosen few - most shall be slew by the street-life - are to be gold if they develop their heart and believe so... hold before they ever fold, remain firm and bold in the face of the coo-coo clock and CEASE MY LIL BROTHAZ ACROSS AMERICA PLAYING RUSSIAN ROULETTE AND WAGERING BETS SURE TO BE UNPAID DEBT WIT' YOUR SHORT EARTH-TIME... TIME BLOWIN' FREE BY THE WIND...

By Joe Valentine (Okera), C#47779
P.O. Box 7500 (D4-212)
Crescent City, CA 95532