from 40 feet down:

groans to a stop

and now i am worried how my grandkids

will survive this world, how they will navigate

the cops, the dictator wannabe, the plague.

i can see minnesota from here, across the lake,

i wonder if life is better with them in minnesota,

i wonder what living well means when thick,

dull white cops kneel on the necks of descendents

of black slaves, kneel on their necks until

they can't breathe, kneel on them until they die

the very slow death that happens so fast.

and we are spinning in circles backwards now,

we are spinning in circles. we are less than what

we were, we are no longer people, not now,

we are no longer people, we are thugs now at best,

we are animals at best, we have become criminals

and we live criminal lives, we are now the sound

a great machine makes as it groans and groans

and groans to a stop.