Tuesday, October 31, 2017


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

Monday, October 30, 2017


(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

Sunday, October 29, 2017


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

Saturday, October 28, 2017


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