I am significantly illusioned as I carry a tablet of newsprint, a woven bag full of cable cords and an old track phone through the streets as children lie on the sidewalk and giggle. As their friends draw chalk lines around the bodies.
I am too proud to ask for directions to Fourth and Revolution.
Just last night I was on the floor in fetal position after the election.
Just last night I had an orgasm.
Is love a mechanism for forgetting?
I am significantly illusioned as I carry a tablet of newsprint, a woven bag full of cable cords and an old track phone.
I am well equipped for the revolution as long as there's a power source.
Here are the children drawing chalk lines around bodies.
Here is a woman carrying more bags and bumming a cigarette.
Here is America.
The killing spree never ended, it just got politically correct.
If they go low and we go high, they will stay on the ground making laws and we will float amongst the privileged clouds of abstraction.
Must I remind you that gravity is not selective?
God also has a place amongst the clouds and last I checked
God isn't doling out healthcare or voting rights.
This is the killing ground so liberals get your guns, the KKK won't enter your educated discourse.
But can we find the ground again
The ground soaked with native blood?
Can we meet in the streets littered with children
Littered with black bodies?
Or would descension send us into a tailspin
as we recognized the stench?
As we recognized our own weak stomachs.
The senses are dead. Something about my work goes here.