"Black Tax: Vol. 3: Post Mortem Rainbow"
acrylic on canvas
We live in a society where young black boys can't get a pack of Skittles without dying. Trayvon deserved better than this.
Black Tax: Vol. 3: Post Mortem Rainbow
"Mind yo business"
that's what my mother always
"...it's the best business you'll ever know son"
of the talk. Or maybe it was 14, I can never tell
what order the rules came in. I just
knew there were far too many
to understand what freedom is.
Bounded by rules to remain
alive or increase the chances of it
"hands on the wheel"
"yes sir, no sir"
"smile" (the pearly whites against black skin/works half the time)
"Don't make any fast moves"
"Don't reach into anything unless they ask and can see you clearly"
"Don't breathe heavy"
"Don't appear scared"
"Don't walk with rhythm"
"Don't strut too cool"
"Don't intone your brothers
with no jive ass shit unless
they can understand"
but make sure they understand your body language...
"...when shopping for colorful
orbs containing monosaccharides
to pacify your palatte"
"Don't talk like you smart"