I came into the Carl’s jr, hungry and with a near-dead cell phone. I put in my order. An older man sat alone in the dining room, reading a book.

today i wear the colors of my country. red; of angry, bloodshot eyes. white; the stricken pallor of my complexion. and royal blue; bruises won by falling for hope. ~

every phone call starts with oh good you’re alive. i’m not sure how much longer i can keep doing this. the apartment smells like tea rose & heat. my city

We, blue cargo, strapped to our neighbor’s backs. Their hooves chafe against the white house lawn toward the artificial orange of his face from which spews messianic verbiage—this American temptation

Someday America will come crawling to us, bleeding democracy out of her center, Know that we can’t educate her out of the mess. It is only love that lasts, in