Untitled (trying out vegetarianism poem)

Is that the smell of burning flesh?
It seems like not even raindrops that lead to rainbows
Can extinguish the fire that burns
Cause at the end of the rainbow dreams have been deferred
And I’m at the end of my rope
There are forests where each tree represents a human life
Consumed every time a chef fires up the grill to consume a steak
He reignites forest fires
Where bodies burned alive and lynched are swaying in the breeze
Our humanity is disintegrating into ashes
We can watch footage from war torn countries
As long as it doesn’t cut into our American Idol time
and the air time isn’t between 8 and 10
we are becoming too complacent
We don’t mind eating meat but can’t bear to see the animal slaughtered
As if that makes us more humane
Our insanity lies in a world where animals don’t feel  pain
It’s o.k. to eat the misery they experience as their throats are slit
And they are given so many hormones that they have to be tied to a rope and dragged
Our insanity lies
In the place where our forefathers said negros are animals
It’s ok to breed them, then separate families
I should be repenting every time my teeth sink into fastfood
It’s as if I’ve ordered my big mac with a side of strange fruit
Flesh was burning hanging from poplar trees
The inhumanity so popular they sold merchandise
That branded cruelty
And it still exists today
In China, sambo still grins from plastic bottles
And the gold dust twins still leave countertops sweaky clean
Removed so much from reality that they can’t clean up the stains
On napkins of morality people wipe their mouths
Every time a Freudian slip, I mean hate tumbles from their crap wholes
I think we are all full of  b.s., I mean myself in particularly
How can a person call themselves compassionate
And then say pass that curry for some mutton?
I think my eyes were blinded by cultural biases
I could look through oxtail bones
And see the world in rose
Salivate over summers of Jamaican heritage,
family gatherings and good conversation
like a fiend I craved the poison admitting that
it was like a noxious pendant hanging from my conscience
you could diagnose me with a case of necrophilia I am obsessed with the dead
as long as slaughter houses drop birds into scalding hot water
so we can have chicken nuggets without the feathers
what would happen if they left them
would we be reminded to fly above the moral station of
mediocrity and no longer apathetically claim that it’s not out problem
stop shrugging of the comparison of 19th century Americans who did nothing about slavery
we would be like abolitionist fighting for the rights of all creatures?
Would dreams of humanity cease to be deterred
And would our morality form a rainbow that came full circle?
And would I still smell the scent of burning flesh?