Someone (said something, somewhere) yesterday


Cushioned on the seats of the opposition
it’s clear as -time: the leader will have that say

How to object in all propriety, in cheap clothes
note, the spaces between sequins
can’t we mark it up to the breathing

Of dancers, chairman, the well-heeled in song
(in concert) so polished, the oh-fixed arrangements

Veering from the blood of the ho-hum running amok
the spray of the fireman, all nerves. How to smuggle in the red

trucks in cycles of polite discourse
While news of clapping wash

white an hour and a half of squealing. Squeals

Or tears? Apparently, this generation’s been shaped into arsonists
scavengers of relief goods.
Before you pox both houses, here’s

your man-at-arms riddled with fire and asthma.
Companion, take this body

as far from the water as is human and possible.


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