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John-PB-MillerPoems
Caulk like chalk lines Drawn on a brick wall draws blocks together like ionized particles; and so the dust whips up from the pavement, onto the flat mast of a tricolored flag which rests in public space– but not without movement, but not without tension– would fall without knots. And so our good people, held by conviction prescribed by no doctor swallow a large dose. Fellow faces they crumple, yet it’s poor taste to mention that, and so the tongue is tied; we speak not. 
 White cloth like chalk lines, Red strips like bricks fall Three-fourths down a half mast; good people feel sad. Hands over mouths breathe through cracks in the radio feed, like freckles on a sunburn bleed when cancer starts to spread. Good people see the bad and so white faces turn red, the tragic intrudes on public space and yields nothing said; 
With chalk drawn in broad lines Knots in arteries tie, And so I share in death with all passers-by. Chalk traces human shapes —hollow forms on the street— a dream in waking, immutable quaking, beneath a a flag where all colors meet.
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Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
Tragedy in Repeat
Caulk like chalk lines Drawn on a brick wall draws blocks together like ionized particles; and so the dust whips up from the pavement, onto the flat mast of a tricolored flag which rests in public space– but not without movement, but not without tension– would fall without knots. And so our good people, held by conviction prescribed by no doctor swallow a large dose. Fellow faces they crumple, yet it’s poor taste to mention that, and so the tongue is tied; we speak not. 
 White cloth like chalk lines, Red strips like bricks fall Three-fourths down a half mast; good people feel sad. Hands over mouths breathe through cracks in the radio feed, like freckles on a sunburn bleed when cancer starts to spread. Good people see the bad and so white faces turn red, the tragic intrudes on public space and yields nothing said; 
With chalk drawn in broad lines Knots in arteries tie, And so I share in death with all passers-by. Chalk traces human shapes —hollow forms on the street— a dream in waking, immutable quaking, beneath a a flag where all colors meet.
Written by
John-PB-Miller
20/M/New York
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
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