A Biggot Is a Spic

Your bones are black, you have a black skeleton

It cracks, it shatters, what's the matter?

The carnival lights frighten me, night rides glow in rows with secrets in the spin cycle

I've read up on nothing, these pages upon pages we write, round and round

Our plays perform on their own

They disown us and loan us a version we raze all alone, welcome home