by: Robel Kassa

sound check #1: racial reverb

seized by creases from folds of teases
albeit the coughs and wheezes and blood he sneezes
wintry observers watch as a soul freezes
an immigrant ceases to exist

turn the mic up a bit, i don't think they can hear me well

misery brewed in steam from sewers
misnomers of homelessness enslave the hopeless
linguistic barriers fence in educated minds
and truncate cries of neglect

turn it up a bit more, they're not listening in the back

ghost-infested alleys boast
to hosting hordes of the deceived,
most received with open qualm-free arms of relatives
dreams too tentative to toast
lost amongst the lowest of the pecking order -
ideals of crossing borders

forget it, man. i'm not reading this tonight … besides, they won't understand me with my accent

sound check #2: ethnic reverb

obsessions with obelisks frisking for sensations of pride
drowning in tides and storms of color lines
ethnic ties and tinkering with minds
reshuffled priorities knot bellies into binds of starvation
      goddamn sanity on ration

complexes from complexion confound
as misplaced identities on high horses abound
in haste to ride off the cliff
      ego trippin' scared stiff

mr. soundman, push the speakers back a bit … too much feedback