Parole What is it about me that gets the cops flowing and flocking to talk to me about my infringements? Sweat in my heart proper licenses on hand tight grip on to my safety straps I wonder what is that entices them to my scent a smell peculiar to my knowings I ride the highways that way full with body made of odors exuding dismissals exposing hypocrisies. They must read my body thoughts, these cops they must know I cannot be policed. So, they catch me for minor violations a red light out from yesterday, a job order for a missing bumper today, slippery brakes, my truck is on her way to dereliction. The cops though, better not catch on or else they will find out that I am a parole violator a convicted felon a lover of sin a lover of peace. Erica Weick, January 2003 excerpts from the “Book of Illegal Spirituals"
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This tells me that your peace-loving, rebellious heart is attracted to the art of graffiti. I have always loved it. Love how it brightens otherwise drab landscapes. Love how it defies with art. Let's sing some more!
I love all the metaphors, being a felon of sorts myself! I want to read more from this particular book...