Image for post
Image for post

I’ve come to a place
where to look at the stars
means to turn on the TV.
We’ve forgotten how to fight
like guerrillas
and know only how to cackle
at the spectacle
they call politics.
Revolutionaries call for jail,
not change.
They knit sweaters for lamp posts
and call it a bomb.
What is this place
of placemat people?
Lying down to be trampled on
by some oversized entity
that calls itself
ruler and executioner.
There once was bloodshed,
lives being given
and taken for just causes.
In the wake of planes
and under the shadow of towers,
we have forgotten
that sometimes terrorists and traitors
are what is needed for a true amend.

At night,
I hear gunshots and think
Yes,
now strike.
Show them what has been harbouring
in minimum wage,
tucked beneath medical bills,
drowning in gasoline.
Bring the regime to its knees
until it is begging
for a reprieve.

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