How lovely it would be to live in a nation where
poetry put down insurrections. Then I might bang out
this stanza and go sue a wolf for stealing the moon.
On a drizzly morning walk I stopped to let a hearse go by,
its pitch-black paint sweating polish, and as I waited
for the procession I thought about who profits from tragedy,
the business of loss, and who profits no matter what,
“Freedom is not a state; it is an act. It is not some enchanted garden perched high on a distant plateau where we can finally sit down and rest. Freedom is the continuous action we all must take, and each generation must do its part to create an even more fair, more just society.” – John Lewis
What if all this time, energy, and money were spent, not on the illusion of security, but rather on building a more just, prosperous, and beautiful democracy? I suppose that’s a dream better left to comic books and video games.
The relentless onslaught of lies, crime, bigotry, and corruption over the past four years has put many of us in the position of having to pretend that the abominable is not transpiring.
You would have to have your heads up your asses to expect us to take back power and not exact political revenge.
The only way to demonstrate your commitment to justice is to immediately sever all ties with Mr. Rosenstein, whose actions are diametrically opposed to the values you claim to espouse.
While the Enola Gay circled overhead, I gained weight,
and obsessed over coverage of its flight: Would we be spared,
or perish? What orders have been given, and who or
what will the pilot obey? We paid for the plane and…
Humanity risks extinction because
we love the wrong things too much.
I am under no illusions. To love you is
to resist oblivion, to laugh at craters.
We knew these would be hard years; at least we can laugh,
say I love you, watch for the flags at half-staff.