Trump now thinks he is a king, acts like a king, and is deferred to by the Republican Party as though he were a king
The dishwasher hums and the laundry’s put away.
Clean sheets, clean cutlery. A puddle of dust
on the hardwood, but the dog is on my lap
and a drowsy rain perfumes the house.
To write is to argue without evidence that beauty
pervades: the rainforest and the killing field,
sunsets and floods of acid rain on I-95.
We can never atone for the billions
spent on dark dreams
sawed through with ease,
To resist through nonviolence, yes—
I’ll do what the data says is wise.
But to love is another matter:
I may wave the flag, but I am no patriot;
Is it not better to burn what they betray?
This is where we come together,
Not before but after:
The blood already drained,
We refill it;
We never lack for blood to give.
Three Marches have come and gone
Like a public bus come to my street
Before giving up and moving on.
Each time I’ve seen them through windows
Fogged with the steam of my growing rage,
It does not matter who lit the flame
That burned the Reichstag down,
Only that it burned and so few
Considered what cremation means
To those who long for proper burial.
I spend a lot thinking about whether or not for profit entities can be relied upon to be forces for social good, if they can be at all (see my post on impact investing, for instance). Thus Nike’s recent decision […]
A relentless South Texas wind poses impossible questions,
Flaps the smirking flags until they are upturned,
Mists the mown grass with evil’s sputum,
Ripples the lone unarmed security guard’s shirt
As he waves concentration camp employees