…Still progressively moving backwards,

to see the oncoming traffic of ceremony.

Celebrating the death of “We the people

of the United States in order to form a

more perfect prison of class, and race…”

People now bleed red, white, and blue for

a harlot’s misfortune. A product manufactured

from abortive processes, informing them when

they may love, and how much hatred to

have when using hammers to collapse

upon flints.

…Still progressively moving backwards,

walking with our backs turned towards

the oncoming future, a cliff, a void, a gorge

filled with the bodies of history manifested

from centuries before, where belief was the

reason to fight, not to fall in place. Our red

hands now cover over our faces, shielding

our eyes from the desperate state of clandestine

demise, instead of feeling the power of

asserted retribution, our now useless energy

is meeting it’s imminent end.

…Smiling while flashbulbs pop;

freeze frame, a singular smile dancing

in our memories, as each razor sharp tooth

resembles the fear we have in the naked truth.

This is what we asked for. To have millions,

upon millions of people whose backs are

breaking, supporting the weight of those

willing to test their theories on our will to

vote, to turnout, to oust the authority ripping

our conscience from action.

Another dumpster is filled with the excess

fat sucked from below the poverty line,

cushioning the fall of those stricken with the

disease of not being wealthy. Deeper pockets,

for longer arms, moving pawn pieces thousands

of miles from home, is this what it’s come to?

…Still progressively moving backwards,

across a media mainstream traffic jam, where

horns blare theatrics, and death hits us smack

between the eyes. A pitch black slumber, wondering

what the metaphor for democracy is. A syringe

is extracted pulled from my subcutaneous tissue,

proving that this conviction is much more than skin

deep. I slowly slip into a narcotic laced tirade,

running from the pain I cannot nullify while

awake. I cannot shake the image of watching

my hands get severed, while reaching for his

neck, the rung right above poverty.

…Now cautiously I move forward, blind

but patient. I’ve plucked my eyes out so looks,

can’t deceive, so my third eye may be the only

insight I believe.

Let the adrenaline set back in, the epinephrine

begins to rig my body so I may stay active,

fervent. I step off the next project block to face

the misfortune of never understanding the

fomentation of their bureaucratic nation.

I remain clear, an empty mind is the most

lethal of all devices, because to learn one mustn’t

be full, they must remain hungry.

Reality flashes back on. We’re progressively

moving forward, our backs turned to the cyclic

nature of revenge.

I swear it’s karma confusing charisma as the

characteristic to long for.

I collapse, completely depleted. The natural

order of leadership is to strike up hope within

the hopeless, but the process is duress artificially

flavored with a confounding idea, that we do

have order, a semblance of equality.

I trip over the same line, because liberty is

freedom. A halo is easily tempered into horns,

adorning all those who still progressively

move forward.