Where Democracy Fails Ambiguity Reigns


When a cell phone screen is ridden by ambiguous rose hued reflections…
Dull lovers sit on a park bench.
Desolate brown-bags sit on a park bench.
Dumb fetuses crawl from their wombs to sit on a park bench.
Come find me, Dahlia.
Let’s confuse knowledge for purpose.
We can fuck until midnight,
Or clean our entrails
With disinfecting wipes.
We’ll allow the scent of processed lilacs
To reduce our milky secretions
To that of post-it-notes.
We’ll scribble blood lyrics onto flesh.
Borrow tomorrow’s potential,
And prepare for social suicide.

Come find me, Dahlia.
I want to write love poems
About lynching midnight.
I want to kill everything good,
And introduce necromancy
To democracy.
I want to hear you screaming
Louder than the church bells,
“Fuck me daddy! Christ!”
I will fail at everything
Before I will succeed at nothing.

I will remember the 5th of November
As just a poem.

I will remember Dylan Thomas
The same way.

I will not kiss and tell.

I will fuck and forget.

I will inject heroin, again.
I will sleep,
Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep,
And weep.
Until Dahlia comes home,

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