poetry has become the stuff of survival
protest in prose
write a poem
call it food
and eat it word for word
to nourish the belly
for the long road
write a poem
call it anger
a blade to cut through bullshit
in abusive times
I write the road ahead
flatten it
hills knocked flat
ditches filled up
I write the road behind
paved with memory
and myself
stretched
a long story
warping
weaving
waving into the future
a handrail of words to cling to
a guide in the dark
a survival manual for the traveler
-o0o-
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