‘t the fuck?!
I remember standing on Putnam and Wilson next to a tire as tall as I.
I would spin its rim if it slowed down, I i.
do you remember when couches were mountains?
and parents not yet people?
I roam looking genty* as fuck, to those who know me not.
Get to. I’m nice.
iI want my home back.
iI want the packs of latin@s on Knickerbocker and Wilson and Wyckoff vibing on the
.June of Sunday first
Why did they have to leave?
Where’d they dipset to?
Why did Columbus rape me again?
cause, to be real,
that new grey and
lime green building on
Schaefer and Central looks like shit.
because it’s always poetic to be cliché
Why do I keep on keeping on?
Why do I live for an idea of intangible commerce?
Why do you?
when they holler, ‘t the fuck?!, keep walking, and breathe.
you’re from here.
you have nothing to prove.
Now, how else can I do for my community as aesthetic prowess plagues my Bushwick with East-Williamsburg-itis?
*genty – gentrifier-like