This is Izell Robinson, Minnesota inmate number 210006. An innocent man confined within a quadrilateral systemic injustice fighting to be heard. I’m only asking that you, the listeners, hear me and act. I’m only asking to be heard. Today, I want to do a untitled poetic piece that I wrote. It’s an original piece. And I actually want to dedicate this piece to the surrealist, the surrealism movement, you know, that occurred back in like the 1920s,1940s, 60s, that era. So here’s the untitled piece by me.
Life making particles of 1981.
Glowing upstream, bursting through fatigue.
Tired moods of love pinned under siege, struggling.
An uprising inside.
An awakening sun.
Daylight, nose to nose with the nightmare before her eyes,
Feeling the rumble of defiant birth and walls squeezed,
Knowing there’s no tourniquet to wrap psychological bleed
Or worthless emotions existing in the weakness of unheard battle cries.
Concerned about judgment of stained sacred objects,
Tainted and sadness with deep structured running fears
To birth among forbidden trees
Watered with soiled tears
In a treacherous garden filled bruised rocks and fractured vines.
Rejects.
Owning nothing but ideas to create or master.
Mind, a God, off its pedestal,
There’s still monumental ego and invisible faith.
Wishing away this windblown,
Thin and gray beard of misery.
Genie fake.
Worshippers deceived.
And the desire to exist,
Being trapped inside an artificial bod.
From beneath and in between,
Rich, black, beautiful thighs,
Tanned, Holy Ghosts float from her slithery sand.
Wet bedrock principles submerging.
Brawling spirit, and a fight for liberty worth defending.
Imperishable democracy and white despair
Keeping the fight inside as trespassing.
Boundaries on the wrong side of useless yearnings
Within airsick desert land.
Howling screams and breathing
With noise of purpose to born thought
Produced where ornamented crown was worn as a symbol of her royalty.
Sojourn the spirit world, its cultural tradition that rewards for rare loyalty,
Gift giving is before the mirror.
Looking to pass into each other’s lessons,
The lessons that are taught.
Untitled by Izell Robinson.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.