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tylervk Dec 2017
If angels were given to govern men,
                                                            ­              neither
                         external nor internal controls
    would be necessary
First,
                        control the Governed
Next,
                        control private interests
                                                       ­                   over
   public rights
In republican government,
                        legislative authority necessarily
                                                     ­                     predominates,
on extraordinary occasions,
it might be
                        perfidiously abused
power surrendered by the people
to the administration,
                        unjust views of the major
                        interests of the minor
turned against
                                                                ­         both parties
society itself
                        will     be     broken
many parts,
                        interests
                        ­class of citizen,
                        rights of individuals
Or
                        the     minority
will be in danger of
                                                                ­         the majority
the best security—
rights of every class,
                        will be diminished
Justice is the end of;
                                                             ­             civil society
Inspired by Tracy K. Smith's cut-up Declaration
tylervk Jan 2018
Come I will show you my scars
Pluck away at each stitch
Till this zeal rushes out
I will reveal each
Secret—tarp lain,
Stretched in appearance
Of—uniformed dignified,
Up-right, forward gaze.
Come I will make your  
Pride relevant. And
Your bumper
Sticker support
Will be
Requited.
tylervk Jan 2018
this morning I am going to jump into my poem—dive into my poem, I am going to surround the air with my poem, a cloudy substance my poem, I will be suffocated by the breaths taken when in my poem, others will not suffer the same consequences for it is — my poem, yes, my poem the one I constructed, laid the foundation, of this poem, oh yes, my poem—the one I painted, countless hours tracing the lines of the skeletal existence of; my poem, yes the same poem that makes skin crawl, the same poem that  inspires, love, fear, sorrow, wonder, the same poem that I have been keeping stored away in this led box inside my hallow chest, the one that flipped on—new lights ones never before seen, in my poem there is nothing much more than literal build up with emotional out pouring; not in my poem is there mention of kings and queens and what boy will love me most, no in my poem—cynicism takes the lead in my poem I attack the ones I disagree with, not attack parse; I storm the opposition in my poem—the “right”, in my poem has no leg to stand on, in my poem I do not ponder existence of god and such other things, oh no in my poem I do as I please,  in my poem I am the puppet master, the driver, the captain, the president; oh yes, in my poem, is where I belong.

— The End —