A SPRAY CAN shakes
as THE HOOD does a double take.
The aerosol can hisses
something like a salted snake.
The bagged-bottle d r i p p i n g,
with every moving stake.
The clock was t i c k i n g off to fate...
Sirens cried from somewhere off,
they sounded lost.
True L O V E is Art,
at at any cost.
Jesus Christ, in all who are mighty.
What a thought.
The hoods' lines were previously designed
to full fill a cross.
As abandoned cargo will soon be tossed.
Please. N O T to be crass,
but, SEE, the hood was a B A D A S S
(the kind that "wifed" up the girl with the fat ass).
The hood was glowing,
without even knowing,
and people could see that.
The voices convened that
the hood was trouble,
with double the struggle,
plus reason to flee fact.
at least of what's been seen,
captivated the less then free,
and R E E K ED of paint streaks
leaking down red, blue and green
on the horizon of a clashing city scene.
The streets had bred the hood into STRIFE,
and gave the hood canvas to paint THE LIFE.
In Biblical speech:
hoods KNOW the night
and KNOW of plight;
S E E the lights
but KNOW their rights.
THE HOOD was American.