Places on the Continental Cradle

Soapboxes screaming into sound

systems, “Who would you die


for?”  Time taken away from you

for Money, and all you want


is some more moments

with your Honey.  Who would I


die for to keep my own

sanity?  Now, I am my own


causality.  Out goes the system, long grows

my hair like a handmade hijab.  Hear each rock


of salt crashing on the fibers of phantom

women.  Yell into megaphones, “I’m here to die


for the Base, the Uneducated, The Proletariat.  Live

off the fat of Big Pigs.  It’s time to Rriot!  Come march


with the Untouchables.”


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