Voicemail Poems

Klu klux what? I'm a such A tool for America Hands scraped raw Hammered deep into cotton Fly up and it rains gold I'm a Midas But was forced to turn Inanimate objects into fortune To fields of green picked Over and rotten I'm a supposed Dead used problem Both birth and demise Alleged Between trying to kill And forgetting about I'ma question A poking to see if I writhe How much can a country Heap on a back until It concaves into a nail America's only seeming quandary You jealous? // Hey Klu Can I call you Klu What you going to do With that cross besides Make me laugh A tongue is a flame A black body is a cross You worship, me? Little ol' burnt thing Used to be pick to your ninny Now every time you lynch me You clone me // Behind you! Issa Me Oh! You thought the Noose would kill me No, no,no,no,no,no I mean not really me But another me Remember the clone The string up and teleport So every molecular thing Served up to slaughter Still lives structurally Same skin and everything But equipped with the Mem