day TWO HUNDRED and EIGHTY FIVE

Last Cigarette 

I sometimes wondered in my youth
if I would ever find myself with my back
against a wall and a hood thrown over my head
before the call for soldiers to raise their guns,
like in the movies and books when the fascists
finally chased down those who resisted, but of course
not, this was America, we were far from all that
historic heroism—a privileged thought

but sometimes I am reminded of those late
night movies and books, because I see
us becoming our truest selves in these times:
either one who resists, one who turns a blind eye, or
one who polishes boots for Master's approval

it feels strange to think this way,
we're so comfortable in our safety
and entertainment, but those firing lines?
they still exist in nations we chide
and also in nations our leaders
claim to respect, condone, befriend
it happens, today, tomorrow...

and here, in our safety, the saddest
thought of all is that this rising Nationalism
might not be a new America, but the truest
America—finally crawling into the spotlight,
noose and rifle in hand; white, in blue,
smattered with red, chanting
and cheering for purity and prosperity
it’s what they want, it’s what they’ll get

so take care, and watch closely
because what's old becomes new again
and the things you scoff at might yet
come for you in the night
with no intention of letting you smoke
that last cigarette before they put your back
against the wall

--James Duncan

day TWO HUNDRED and EIGHTY FOUR

(hurrying now)

diaphanous and other secret 

notes i sent you in my mind 

-w love for dt 

shoulder to shoulder

on the bench by the fairgrounds 

minutes adding up 

products of an equation 

making the bottoms

of final hours evanesce

we take internet 

quizzes together and laugh

at our own ridiculousness

hoping the art gallery poetry reading 

at seven-thirty will have 

free wine between real 

talk and movie quotes 

i'm not even mad 

you've never seen roy 

batty cry i love you 

i love you i love you 

life is lived in and in 

between the tears

seconds when my heart 

murmurs to yours 

louder than silence more 

colorfully than sight

you are a beautiful

murmuration of genius 

you are a starling

you are a million million

nkorean missiles in flight

--Paul Koniecki

day TWO HUNDRED and EIGHTY THREE

Hoss the Racist

Hoss the Racist

tits sagging

avalanche belly

takes out his Glock

and sleeps with it

between his legs.

Hoss the Racist

reduced to working

at a Sonic in Biloxi

with a wife

that’s left him

for anything else

dreams big about

the fucking he can’t do

and the killing

he can.

--Jon Bennett

day TWO HUNDRED and EIGHTY TWO

Take a Knee

Racists shape White House policy,

rail over athletes who take a knee

to protest indiscriminate murder of

people of color.

Cheeto-in-Chief accuses players

of unpatriotic behavior, scripted outrage

a distraction from growing revelations

about his treasonous collusion with Russia.

The Commandant of Chaos petulantly tweets

juvenile insults, attacks responsible adults

who attempt to moderate, serve as his keeper,

instigates WW III, keeps the pot stirred.

--Jennifer Lagier