Poo Purée


And “white supremacy”
They have a pungent scent
Smothering any sense

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on March 24, 2018, in Four By Six, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.

  1. Pungent, to say the least. 🙁


  2. I knew this man
    who wore his whiteness like a badge,
    and he kept going around
    and saying,
    hey, look at me! Look at me!

    Until, finally,
    he noticed that his skin
    was sloughing off,
    and beneath it all
    he was putrid inside.

    Liked by 1 person

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