![]() |
![]() ![]() ![]()
![]() To top of page Memorial Day by El Rivera There are no Band-Aids for internal injuries. The problems we see are organic, from birth the name calling begins; I'm black, and you're white. From that moment on, you're a hyphenated individual; a black-student, a black-employee and then finally a black. This black/white nation, the crack in the American foundation. America is a dying concept preserved in desert like conditions, being choked off by dry heat. We rarely speak of the American because we don't know who they are. Is an American someone who drives an American car, an original settler of foreign land; or just an Amer-i-can? The American fork needs a black/white knife; to cut off ascension. Being black is the most effective from a White racist's perspective. I'm tired of eating my black piece of American pie, digesting my portion of peptic acquiescence. I'm tired of being steered like a horse. I'm tired of excessive force. You can't water the desert to curb the drought. To little, too late's what I'm talking about, that piece of what you need. That hyphenated angle, webs spawn by racists to tangle. A racist pattern, using common cotton fabric-the fiber of our lives! The hemstitch in Mother America's apron. Mother America ties her apron behind her back every morning, and goes about her day. And goes about her day, and goes about her day, and goes about her day. ![]() To top of page Steve Sold Kharman by El Rivera Steve sold Kharman. When Steve sold Kharman, because he was too weak to drive. Sold Kharman. When Steve sold Kharman, we joked and laughed with water filled eyes. Sold Kharman. When Steve sold Kharman, we shared bus stories so he would get by. Sold Kharman. When Steve sold Kharman, I noticed every Kharman Ghia that rolled by. Sold Kharman. When Steve sold Kharman, I knew he was preparing to die. Sold Kharman. When Steve sold Kharman, When Steve sold Kharman, When Steve sold Kharman. Dedicated to Stephen Cormier (1959-1993) ![]() To top of page I'm feeling woozy by El Rivera I'm feeling woozy; you might lose me if you don't hold me real tight. You embrace me when you face me, when you kiss me it's night. I see stars, the room starts spinning, and I feel like sitting all night. I'm feeling woozy; you might lose me if you don't hold me real tight. Baby, I'm telling you your kisses are out of sight. You make me woozy; I want you to use me, down right abuse me all night. I'm feeling woozy; you might lose me if you don't hold me real tight. ![]() To top of page Industry by El Rivera Indus, indus-indus; indus-indust. Indus, indus-indus; indust. Industryyyay, yyyay-yyay, yyyay-yyay. Industry, builds indust-indust. Industry, builds indust-indust. Industryyyay-yyay-yyyay. Industry builds, indus-indust. Industry kills! Industry kills by dust. Where's my job? In dust. Where's my job? In rust in-dust. In dust in-rust. ![]() |