Kenny Bradley
Crime Pays by Freddie Gibbs (feat. Clairo)
Lately, i’ve been finding myself
flutter kicking my feet up in the air
spine lounging into a mattress
ears indulging on some OG rapper
talking about a dime or a bag or a strap
a song always around the corner
across the block, strung up on telephone cable
i’m well versed in watching how crime pays
in reruns of Fresh Prince or Biggie Smalls’ ballad
but—find me frolicking in foliage
of Eisenhower park—earbud strings
outputting prison incarceration rates
over a Sade sample
blasting 808s about the homie,
who is not my homie, but we all homies in this land,
just caught a shell to the chest
adds to another historic statline
i wonder how many hugs
i love yous he averaged before 25 candles were
extinguished
and it is not until i’m also like the dead
Alone
enwrapped in funeral bedrobes
i’ll fill the room with violet LEDs
press play on indie AI generated playlist
whip my fro or forcefully bump my head since
i do not own enough hair to swing my fro
and sing on how i can be a pretty girl too
over a soft rock guitar chord
strapped in beige cardigans
tote bags filled with literature on
all this unabashed gratitude a pretty girl could have
lip balm flamin hot cheetos hot
yes—i’m getting lost in white girl bedroom bops
i’m most black when i lower the dial on indie ballads
or the season 5 opening of Naruto
so i can get miseducated with Lauryn Hill
i’m most black with a to go coffee cup in hand
and the price tag on my wanted poster drops
as if this mug became an extension of my body
telling a cop to not shoot
lately, i don’t know if i’m coiling the ends
of my hair instinctually to a Freddie Gibbs
verse over a Clairo song or to perform some act of
ensuring my hands are already up in the air
my mind has become an amalgamation of
discordant sounds from garage band concerts to
bedroom studio recordings—has become drying prison linen
over a bed of flowers
a golden grill
sipping up a pumpkin spiced latte
has become stories we default to for protection
a series of songs to dance to
that makes weaving the bullets easier
Kenny Bradley is a poet and graduate student at Rockefeller University, based in New York City, where he travels the boroughs to perform spoken word poetry. He utilizes concepts in both music and biology to influence and shape his poetry to discuss topics ranging in self-love, identity, dissecting trauma, and being a black person in STEM. He was a finalist for the Luminaire Poetry Award and his work can be found on Button Poetry, Frontier Poetry, Empty House Press and etc. His debut chapbook, “Night Science” was recently released with Garden Party Collective. To find more of his work, you can find him on instagram @hotchocolate_poetry.