Fascism:
no questions no
wonder no dreams.
Peace:
no secrets just
gossip.
Is this what
they had in mind,
from the stage?
Ripple white
like the hem of a toga pulled aside
– voila for all the
family men, all the polar fleece.
But fuck you from
my bluetooth,
fuck you from my
broom.
The tile will
never be clean
the skin will
never gleam
& meanwhile mineral
earth
remains unnamed:
to smell a thing
this solemnly
scorned.
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