when chubbs
staggered up archer st.
and had tears on his chin
we all knew
george was gone

it was like a bad dream
where your lover is
running from you
and the faster you give chase
the slower you move

it was the dull freeze
of denial
that hit us
when we heard you died
george
that kind of numbness
that eventually becomes
a festering rage

how you used to sing
laugh
fight
ball
dance
and all the girls
they were always around
trying just to get
your eye

all done and gone
in parkchester
by some shit with a gun
from van nest
over some imagined rudeness
by a girl on your arm

over nothing

the boil of rage
was lanced that night

we tore them up
those guys
from van nest
looking for the shit
until they prayed
that the cops found him first

how many bled for you, george?
i can't say except
now i think
you wouldn't
have been glad

when the rage
died down
and the damage was done
all we had left
was the medicinal bitterness
of helpless resignation
in our throats
that you were gone

you would've loved it
they were all there
everyone who had a beef
swallowed it for that day
latin kings
zulu nation
all the girls
all your niggaz
all of the rest
they all came
to cry together
we poured some out for you
enough to get the city
drunk for days

we've lost some before
and a few more since
like deshawn
and lil johnnie buono
all those kids

too many candles
blown out
by ghetto winds

now we roll deep
in the here
and the after
and if i look hard enough
i can see you chilling
smoking
drinking
and laughing
on the corner
of leland and archer