I’ve never been burdened with Papaver rhoeas, or opiate
for a history of death. I’ve not seen Flander’s Field, nor
have I bled on Rossville Street, but I’ve lost vitamin D
over the shelf break and I know how it feels to watch
organised murder. My town wears air strikes on its lapels
in the way it should write Syrian refugees on its sleeves.
Have you watched your streets fill with people desperate
to fall apart, together? They’re lining the borders with silk
and practicing their best salutes, golden and arched with
a promise to prove De Gaulle right.
– Aaron Kent
This morning I squatted in a desperate evacuation attempt
Shots rang out 50 feet from where I sat as I prayed to a vent
I peeked through the blinds and saw my neighbor standing stoic
What’s dangling in his old hand like an old man’s old dick?
Oh shit. It’s a shottie.
Oh shit. I think he saw me.
No shit. No wipe. I’m the fuck up off this potty.
– Sage Francis
The poetic interview with Sage Francis is still in progress. Keep checking back.