Glass Eyes

Placed in the pool of blood next to Raul Espinosa’s face
a tooth and piece of what looks like tongue,
he might have bit it,
doesn’t matter though
cuz the three cracked ribs on his left side collapsed his lung.
And I can still hear the laughing;
the hillbilly crackers
thinking that America had one this day
but America hadn’t won anything.
For Raul is as American as Amerigo Vespucia
And if you don’t know who that is
then loosely–loosely mind you–
kick another tooth out of Raul’s face
And see if bones played with enamel,
on a good day,
thrown in the circle
where your kids want to play
have this yet?
Nothing is American until boots start falling on it.
Bob Dylan can talk WWIII three blues;
I’ve seen the third war and aint nothing blue — nor all over baby–
it’s jazz for the information age
made up–abstract–anybody can play.
Talent isn’t anything that Raul didn’t have
or the chickenshit trash that murdered his ass.
It’s all blood and teeth and bits of tongue
talked with and lied about cut out to gums;
so you don’t see what I have seen.
And if you don’t see
then you have no American eyes.


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