sheer
violence or murder while we sweep dust or particles or rage. our streets are
filthy. our bodies are savages. so much standing in disbelief. voices emerge
souls held hostage by venom of dejection. writers feel ravaged the ransom is
integrity the volume is vicious. such tempos so many deaths our culture is
shell shocked. the ponds mourn our deer eyes. our children see 1960. our
babies wear masks. it dies in us it lives in us it never takes a hiatus. comics are political, mothers awaken earlier, if but to tragic these Last Days. so dramatic. so cursed! as creatures compelled to wage confidence. that inner decision, as it arises at 5 a.m., where minds are determined to caution our winds. our Sarah Cooper, our Oprah Winfrey, our seclusion into a home outlawed by humanity! the need for you, if but to believe in us, where much is dependent upon acceptance. so
separate but equal. those signs are invisible. we sit at the fringes of intolerance. such hostility, or friendship to rage, our children have found their war; disgraced by brutality, disregarded as humans, our policemen fraught or foaming from bigotry. love seems by qualification, where songbirds are singing, while cages are rattling. so much attraction, for something volatile, while whispers dislodge us from freedom. if but to care more if but we celebrate diversity where many
require something to kill socially. such insecurity. such incompleteness. while we give honor to our sanctity. (religion hasn’t spoken, as universality, where officials against oppression follow Jesus! our daughters loathe bibles, our mothers wrestle by alms, our fathers are pressured to dislodge from forms of participation. indeed, sentences become clearer, anger is academic, where we stand at division.) a man was beaten, it was commercialized, nothing has been done!
