Sunday, June 15, 2014

As the metal descends
you anticipate its cold waterfall hitting your nape
The consensual sport of becoming THE ascending cascade
The doting worms who inhabit the wood block
you placed your head on
wriggle into the arena of your ear
Impersonate your idol Suzette
the fire-breathing track star
Like a thrashing salmon
you’re free
Your athlete’s body is sold
in a thrift shop for freaks
They wear your glory not as idolatry
but as irony
The devil is a talentless DJ
who spins your gilded head on a shoddy turntable.
James Mirarchi

A Small Town’s George Floyd Protest 2020

Hope all is going well. Here in the armpit of the nation, masks have never been mandated--and rioting takes place at a minimum. Thought you...