he was radicalized in the marshes of Vietnam when they told him to fire his loaded gun at a group of school children
a dissident who marched on Washington with a Reverend and a King and read Žižek Zinn and Chomsky's reflections on direct action and anarchistic philosophy
a staunch opponent of police brutality in his fifties he protested the ****** of Rodney King
he did not go quietly into the black abyss but raged against a putrescent apparatus obsessed with control
he died waiting for the Revolution
I wrote a poem about a gentlemen I'd never met as part of an art project. The only requirement for selecting the stranger was that he/she had to appear in a photograph and I had to believe he/she was dead. This was the result.