Symbolic
Opponent Syndrome
I
am...I am...I am...
I am the symbolic opponent who bleeds in real time
with your virtual display of machismo across my chest
spelled with shrapnel ink and a magnum pen.
I
am...I am...I am...
I am the contact zone where copper fear transforms duty
into hate.
You only know me through your Ray Bans,
and I become darker by the minute
because moonlight makes me shine from within,
but you only see a glowing target,
and you testify that God was talking through your barrel
(ooohhh),
that your steel smoked with the absence of malice (ooohhh),
like another lover finished in your Dirty Harry hands
(ooohhh).
I
am...I am...I am.
You are the new world order by a thin blue line where
I will be judged
at a moment's breath after a siren call for a TV crime.
Will I have the time to kiss my mother before I depart?
(Ooohhh)
I am...I am...I am...
One-Adam-Twelve, One-Adam-Twelve, New York Undercover
is scary blue.
Suspect is an ethnic cyborg unarmed but forever dangerous
because he dances with a heart on fire and needs no
Coppertone.
(Ooohhh) I am...I am...I am...
He may talk in sounds foreign to the mother tongue
or rap some slang beyond your reach,
as he drops a pose for the asphalt chalk,
and your mission, if you decide to except it,
Mr. Feel good in your badge of courage by gang election,
shiny with the righteous stuff and your breakfast Special
K,
is to see whether his blood is as brown as his skin.
(Ooohhh)
I am...I am...I am...
Think of him as a receptacle for the anger in your urine.
Think of him as a pinata for your billy-club that just
turned pension gold.
His candy wrapper might be loaded with a hidden chocolate
compartment
that could be used against you so look for undertow,
and let your vow of silence guide you through the media
slide.
(Ooohhh)
I am...I am...I am...
The truth is painful at point blank when the trigger
is the law,
and I am free-falling for a lottery death count at eleven,
syndrome of a sickness called "quality of life," spread
like the mayor's butter
on wonder bread Broadway, jammed with Disney caramel
on parade
because Pluto protects the land with a plunger in his
hand.
(Ooohhh)
I am...I am...I am...here to exorcise the demons of
the past!
Why? Because I have to turn your hatred for me into
a poem!
Why? Because I have to turn my anger for you into a
sculpture!
Why? Because I create from pain!
Why? Because I will not be silenced by your fear!
Why? Because I'm trying to learn to love you!
Why? Because otherwise I would have to kill you!
Why? Because I find it difficult to laugh!
Why? Because I'm too goddam sensitive!
Why? Because I studied art in college!
Why? Because I am a Pisces!
Why? Because I was born under a full moon!
Why? Because I have this need to howl in my room alone!
Why? Because it's my primordial scream!
Why? Because my biggest fear is having to work nine
to five!
Why? Because I just bought a Powerbook on credit!
Why? Because I needed the software for my imagination!
I
am...I am...I am...the one you fear because I'm on my
way.
