The Stench (Rising) Poem by Eric Cockrell

the stench... rising,
from your halls of justice,
from your plate glass
Wall Street windows,
from the steps of your churches,
from your brick home suburbs...

is the dried, crusted blood
of your Native American
brothers and sisters...
rising from their reservation
kerosene huts written in poverty,
culture raped whiskey tainted
white god judgements...

rising... till it fills
your nostrils, gags your mouth,
and breaks the shroud of your freedom
with the ghosts of what has been...
redemption demands justice!
the pale horse has come!