We the people,
floodwaters rising over Kansas City banks
and marketplace levies,
are channeled into rooms
the size and shape of shadows
to be given direction,
to give direction;
waiting our turn to be
churned through turbines.
Our mass is growing stagnant
by this massive
****; This feels like surrogate thinking.
Our water is wasted on greco-roman men
chopping up districts into blues and reds
dividing and conquering the ocean.