It’s a fraction of my soul, this hole you want to control. It’s a distracting false role, this whole you want a ‘protocol’ show. I can drink away my whimsy with cigarettes and whiskey. When they get antsy, take their kids to Disney smiling miserably. But it’s a fraction of the whole soul, those they them The Man wish to control. Smile through the pain at those who get the gain. Some of us really can see the rain. Some of us, that’s all we ever see. You’re out there, My Mr. Somebody. But My Mr. Something heeds a bigger ring. I see the halos , and the bows, the fairies and the trolls, Rainbow Warriors & Indigos. The price we pay is water, we failed The Splatter Test , Father. Every day, every day. I see them die this way. Olin’s bullets in the left hand, bleach in its right, we lose the battle because we don’t even fight. Our murders are entertaining. Our homeless are lazy. Truthers are crazy...
Where conspiracy theories meet feminist theories. (And sometimes there's poems).