It’s barely holding together – this tattered experiment

The shuffle of lab coats, the coarseness of scabbed hope – remote – vultures pick over, the bottom line lowers – our standards – and poor – they’re building more floors, down.

The paint chipping halls – echoes sound shrill off the walls – history rolls, the present feels droll – – vertigo and deja vu, trauma and the red white and blue – whispers in corridors – the ghosts now our hosts – in this creaking asylum – seeking asylum – justice and liberty – silenced and caged, Manifest Destiny raged – for this glory – that’s our origin story. They tell it at bedtime – when the drugs of complicity quiet dissent.

Still, the lies – burn – like tear gas and coal ash – something can’t be soothed –

When you wake, can you feel – the itching, the raw and the real – the glimmer fades – the harshness of light, dividing the night – oh say can you see – this condemned toxic lean-to, we really don’t have to – dig our own graves in the shadows of kings.

There’s a pulse – life in a dead zone – doubt, questions – why kill ourselves to save the doomed – experiment? Why take pride – in a flailing sick empire? Why beg for crumbs – when we’re making the bread?

The flag comes undone, unraveled. Stunned.

Naked – the guilt and the sadness – waves in this mad mess. Breathe.

You are the pulse – the life in this dying experiment – this crumbling, fumbling disaster within a mirage.

We are the lab rats – the monkeys, the rabbits and bats – the sick and tired, the jingoist used, the programmed abused.

Still – something couldn’t be soothed – these jagged truths can not be smoothed – passed notes make new pages in books – our bodies are stories – our voices are warnings, and calls.

Now the echoes repeat off the walls: no justice, no peace – this our release –

Swarming the halls, busting the locks, chains – rattle and fall – control – group – pick a route – to freedom –

Emergent we bloom – consumption and doom – behind – in the tattered asylum – experiment done.

Failed. Yet remarkable subjects – prevailed…


Or so I dreamt…on the 4th of July




(feature pic by Halim Ina)