Indebted to Death

The black kid quit his chorus again
while singing keys that kept gods
grumbling and arguing
between blank graves and lagged genesis.
as a pilgrim, these gates didn’t recognize
guitar guides else they’d be granted
ghoulish plagues.
he practised goodness,
jiggled magic.
a sidewalk became a cue
a cure for the weekend.
The black kid’s pocket became a kite
it became candy, an uncle and music
it sunk graves
to be called a plastic pilgrim’s sidewalk.

Ruddapoet