#antifascism
I see the alliances you form,
how they follow you home,
sit in the corner of your rented room,
smoke curling above last night’s dishes—
touching you, touching your pets
touching your kids.
I see what it costs your flesh.
I spat on the social contract once
struck the match myself.
A familiar smell of aluminium and ash
settling like ****
in a throat that should have known better.
I hear the fragility
echo from two states away
in the choreography of your outrage—
what trends, what fades,
what gets mildly condemned.
You speak of resistance.
You speak of solidarity.
The only resistance I’ve seen
has been to progress—
progress that moved without you,
left you
at the back of the line
while we all whistle casually
on a frenzied ferry to a fiery end—
armband pinches, the furnace groans,
the smoke creeps in your throat
and everyone pretends it’s a breeze.
axes. ash. asterisk.
again. again. again.
the smoke in your lungs now
isn't cigarettes.
Lumumba is losing a country
the West is carving now.
Allende's ballot is burning.
The bombs are falling.
Trotsky's theories are correct
and the ice ax is mid-swing.
The Left always bleeds
so The Right can be
seen as right.
Left, out. Right, in.
Now, you feel
what it means—
to be left out.
Now you see it was never—
just elections,
just politics,
just words—
words matter.
Matter, however, takes up space.
Being “left” was never about
what you chose.
It was always about
who you are.
Feb 19
Feb 19, 2026 at 5:30 PM UTC
**** fascism and
**** communism and ****
coronavirus
7:20 PM
4/6/20
Jun 4, 2020
Jun 4, 2020 at 5:21 AM UTC
Do you see me brother?
A feckless skyscraper marching on.
Not deaf but deafened, not blind but blinded,
I watch myself marching past the children,
a million miles away and
all in pretty rows.
We were these children once
before blue academies and flags and books and songs written by long-dead men,
the songs we used to sing, we watched the soldiers,
marching by we marvelled at the colour.
They were so handsome then.
I find you, with graveyard eyes,
brother I feel those eyes on me.
You, who watched me marching by,
you, who turned against
that old familiar stench, drift
into my sleeping focus.
I will not rest-
Tonight
the rivers of blood are sated. Tonight as I listen to the old recording:
“As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding”
Like the roman I see the Thames is foaming and all is red.
A needle skips,
the hush descends.
The tears flowing from my eyes
are invisible to me, the taste of them is all that’s left. I shout and scream into the bed
but still I find your staring face.
Locked safely far away from me.
Locked safely in my memory.
And I choke on empty air.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC
we held hands behind the Black Lives Matter banner.
we took to the streets in solidarity with Heather Heyer
opposing white supremacy and every vestige of bigotry.
the cops stood idle while racists circled
the park like sharks to shake our resolve.
but we carry a new world in our head and hearts.
we marched down Kennedy and Ashley
no badge or gun could hope to stop us hundreds.
we mourned and wept and rose like lions.
*no justice, no peace! no racist police!
1-2-3-4, this is ******* class war!
5-6-7-8, organize to smash the State!*
i cannot find the rhythm and beat amidst this misery.
but, in her memory, we will drive the fascists out.
from Tampa Bay, FL to Charlottesville, VA: ¡No pasaran!
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC