triangle tattoos…

the hands
on
the old man’s watch
stopped
as
if
his fears
had entered
an inanimate object
he stared out
from
his apartment window
into
the darkness
memories
projected
onto
today
men
in black uniforms
herding people
into
the street
cursing each breath
they took
striking anyone
who resisted
the poor
the elderly
man or woman
it
made no difference
for
they were not seen
as
humans
but rather
the cause
of
a
sick nation
but now
he was
in
america
and
the scene
that
took place last night
must have been
a nightmare
for
this is
portland

 

televised crimes against humanity…

steel clad boots
on
city streets
black batons
strike
the faces
of
freedom
faces
shrouded
in
clouds of teargas
and
flash grenades
young warriors
against
trump’s schutzstaffel
mercenaries
masquerading
as
law-abiding agents
of
justice
but
merely
soldiers of fortune
contracted
to
carry out
a fascist
oppression
of
the rights
of
american citizens
all
this
to appease
one
man’s lust
for
power
and
the need
to play
the game
and
to win
the game
at
any cost

 

death of a nation…

when a nation dies
what does it sound like that death
will it gasp and moan
or will it quietly lie
upon its deathbed and die