Hot Dog Stand

06.06.2020

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photo by oc image

Get your

pigs in a row,

toll-free tanks in a column

Let Shepherds,

loose on lost sheep

[dressed as kin],

shred good costumes

Having set

hose and a hydrant

to the highest degree,

Prepare to:

cure flu with fluids -

curfew cleans up the street.

Although no Flu

afflicts Tim Johnson,

he’s as sick as he’s Tired;

Been feeling

ill in the Spirit -

thinks he married a Liar

Delusions of

spending a day

piecing together a Pie

Blueberry

Brandish a Book

with perfect pages

untouched

J scoffs at K,

who could have sworn,

at least at some point in time,

This land was yours -

Before the war -

Just as much as it’s mine

Remember when

Hot dogs were healthy

Freedom rang

No one whined

Blacks were so happy

Safe in castles

Justice was colorblind

Tom’s simply

got himself mixed up,

must have mistaken his mind

for matter

“CORRECTION”— Journal Entry 06.05.20

Yesterday was the first of three memorial services for George Floyd. Words certainly have power. As does the silent passage of time. Both, it could be agreed, are unstoppable. Clock or none, time ticks on and we feel it. Moreover, whether censored or gagged or fed unbelievable lies or devoid of literature or deaf or blind, words — of a kind — still do dwell in the mind. I “left” the service feeling empowered, feeling fully-clothed, feeling, somehow, as if I’d won a championship . . . at great cost. My teammate tore his achilles attempting the game winning block. He landed in pain but rejected regret. The ball in his arms, his face drenched in sweat, “I’d repeat this right now if it ends in arrest of public attention, creates moral unrest and results in CORRECTION.”

[0]nyeka.