poetry of an insignificant revolution.

crippled rural and inflamed is our home

and we gather conflicted

stressing and pumping threw it holiness

that in fact

is not

at all holy

we align

and bring smal bits of aesthetics

made of the collisions

of centuries

of quivering sorrow

here we are

ancient

and infants

and fluttering in fragility

there is nothing

not a massage nor a moral

that we set

in our gatherings and raising of flames

that are made to capture attention

merely we write on windowsills and side roads and all the small little places

in this town uninvaded by rot

that life is here

no matter anger and rage and ugly ugliness

no matter

the rot

and rot 

of misery

and unhindered lament.

life is here.