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I wear my queer in my hips
Hops and slips out of my lips
Through my teeth and past my brain
Guided by my tongue's tip

Between my ears and with my fears
Hopes dreams
The like
I've been called stingy
A fake gay
But God is on my side.

Not that its any of Their business either.
They manifested my body,
But my mind manifests my queer.
I haven't asked Their pronouns
And they haven't either,
                     Then what right do you have?
I've got no buttons on my pants
And my shirt is on backwards

I still think
I can climb into the sky
To find God hiding up there
In all Her mystery
And tug on Her sleeve
And whisper my fear and my hopes my and what I'm thinking
And they'll listen and they wont be bad and
Then She'd remind me of the times I've shamed myself
Help me laugh at my own serious reflection
At trying to not make mistakes
At saying I did something
So bad
So monumental
It was and is worth my shame

Before pinching the back of my shirt
Scruff of my neck
Lowering me back down down down down down down
Until im plopped back onto the hilltop
I dared to call my own
Tumblin’ Bi-latterial bumbkins
Smirk of untrustworthy salutations
Tribes with terabytes of tirades
Engaged in bipartisan relay races
Delay until faces grimace

They really forced our hands on this one

The fat men falling from heights
False winters
And radiation reproduction
Healing blemishes of backwater beasts
Who’ve grown oh so much since
And now silence for ***** sake

Foreign plants and fibers
No more human hands
to tear and manufacture
For cheap and foreign brands,
She won’t care we’re gone,
She’s always been
Will be
Back to a blue blip
Little blue dot
On a mat black background
Grant no sound to the camera
Watching while zooming
Slipping and tumbling
Lonely but still working
Sending pitiful postcards
Of galactic grasses
To a dead receptor
Whose data’s been full for eons
Further and  

Each day
Write between the lime juice lines,
And basil blood,
On the cutting board
To the rhythm of cooks' kitchen knives,

Write between the wet mop tendril trails,
On the reused restaurant floor,
As you carried to clean
A mistake some rich man made,

Write to the beat of the press,
Punching out the steel form,
In accordance with the curriculum,

Write in the silent moments,
Chewing homemade sandwiches
Through the cigarette smoked sunrise

Write between stun grenade blasts
After cleaning tear gas attacks

Write in between ****** boot prints,
The shape of the state seal
Congealed to the street.
Now is not the time for prudence,
For the sacred cow of wisdom,
“That’s what we’ve always done”
“That’s how it’s done”
“You don’t **** with tradition”

Rip and tear,
Enough pandering to robot men
Who change based on our non-violence

I must run up and
Tonsils against curbsides,
Tv lies tried
In the people’s always peaceful protest court,
Shards under nails,
Drowning in names
I need to die
Their boots together eviscerate
Consummate my communist brains

                                           Socialist soul or whatever the ****

With the guilt I’ve been tending to
The past ten years
What was I doin while the revolution happened?
I want to close my hands around
I want to be crushed
I’ve only been hit once and
I cannot grind my teeth hard enough
To relive it
State guidelines say to stay in your home at all costs reduce human contact
Gatherings of over five people are strictly prohibited
Gathering has been declared a riot
I walked in a mask
A dead baby bird keeping me company.

It had see-through skin
and told me how
Rich people have wider sidewalks
And richer dont have any

We stopped to ***** in their gardens

I listened as I walked
Crushing something under my heel,
I didn't look.

I felt.

The heat of the flames
The smoke swells through the mask
I can't see the fire yet,
But it's coming.

When your urge to forgive
Overpowers and violates my
Blessed and Righteous wrath
Rainbows are only allowed
After the torrent has finished ravaging
And mourning

Rainbows are only allowed
After the torrent has finished ravaging
And mourning
I enjoy silent personal smiles,
Brought on by a text,
          A meme
                             Perhaps remembrance
Or the memory of a touch
An old song you just remembered
                                            By the beat of the bus' bouncing
                     Seeing other's
              Is just about as good
As having my own
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