The bomb bleeds 
a luminous psychic red,
we each have a vermillion 
and one chance to rouse the jostled earth 
from doomsday memorandums,
nothing grows,
nothing grows here except
mushroom clouds 
and insidious plots 
against the birds
and the flowers,
who picks flowers,
who is it that 
chooses to pleasure themselves 
by killing such beautiful things,
nothing grows here,
nothing grows here
because we’ve been bombing 
infant ideas into oblivion,
nothing grows,
but remote prophecies of 
yester peoples passing,
nothing grows, except
turpentine and turmoil,
nothing grows,
nothing will ever grow
as fast as atomic ambition
nothing grows as grotesque
as the human heart
nothing grows,
nothing grows here.

“I feel most colored when I am thrown 
against a sharp white background.”
-Zora Neale Hurston

Who doesn’t think in living color
who doesn't think in amber asphalt
or off-white ascensions

Truth, life is a spectrum
and there are many ways 
to be erased

Truth, I feel most colored
when thrown against America’s
razor thin edge

Truth, I feel most American
when thrown against the asphalt

Truth, watches the color 
drain from me,
so I sleep 
(is the cousin)
and let dreams be erased.

TEN is an emerging literary artist whose work centers blackness, queerness and spirituality. He holds a BA in philosophy from Brooklyn College. He has completed workshops w/ Cave Canem, and retreats w/ the Center for Black Literature. His poetry has been featured at The Guggenheim Museum and The Apollo Victoria Theatre. He is currently a member of the Nuyorican Poets Cafes’ 2026 Slam Team. He categorizes his writing as ritual building and prayer.


RETURN TO SPRING 2026 ISSUE OF REBEL'S ZEITGEIST