Ink Face
Last night Telegraph Avenue was dark
Broadway's restaurants were empty
Merchants boarded their windows
A propaganda poster shivered in the wind
Crucified with staples to the street pole
It seemed to scream a ghostly warning
As the corners of the page curled inward
Pointing at the message stamped across its face
"Black Lives Matter" spit by a machine into black and white
The flyer itself shows the two colors at conflict
An omen of battles to come
Oakland streets have walked this war before
Many slain still push up through the concrete
Their corpses haunt the alley ways, bodies aching for justice
Praying for a hero that speaks the supremacist tongue
Their faces frozen in time blot the paper on the post
Portraits of victims who were somebody's baby, somebody's brother, somebody's friend
Immortalized in print, it will not be forgotten
How they were murdered by fear and hate
All because their skin was the color of the ink on the page
