What Should I Do Assata: for the Ancestors

What Should I Do Assata: for the Ancestors 

What should I do Assata? They’re coming for my womb!

Shouted Justice

And, I won’t know who is grabbing my pussy because I’m blindfolded!

But, I can guess.

Is it quisling Alan Dershowitz forgetting the wisdom of “when they came for…”

Is it the narco-trafficante 

Killing Isabel Cabanillas while she bicycles home from a gathering in Ciudad Juàrez?

Was her music too dangerous?

Or, her murals too revolutionary and inflammatory?

Was it the artificial intelligence facial recognition technology that misidentifies Black, Brown, Yellow and female faces?

But can spot a Uyghur from outer space in a crowd of ethnic Chinese.

Removed from their homes

Their graveyards desecrated

By a country that claims to be re-educating them 

And protecting them from their own culture, religion, and language

To make them more productive citizens.

Uyghurs — apparently — are the new Niggers; or perhaps the new Redskins or Chiefs

And, A.I. Identifiable “Whiteface” is the new blackface warns the MIT Media Labs.

Was it the new laws in South Dakota outlawing treatment for trans youth? 

They won’t have to be oppressed if they just kill themselves and be done with it

Cause of death: body dismorphia

Is intersectionality dead 

The wisdom of “when they came for…”

Or are the opiates just that strong?

Because if they come for my body

They will come for yours, too.

Who was it who said:

I wish that they all had just one neck so that I could slit their throats all at once 

I think it was Caligula

If he had waited just 2000 years his wish would have come true. 

We rewrite the New Colossus to include a wealth and education test

While we install a new Caligula

His hand on the throat of Our collective dreaming 
One foot in America and the other in the Middle East

While pissing on immigrants. 

And the lies 

So many lies.

“Why don’t we get to keep the oil?”, he asks.

I shake my head in shame

Everyone I respect is dead 

And all of my enemies are in power 

The affirmation of an optimistic 

Revolutionary mind

I would root for the intelligence agencies if your COINTELPRO experience didn’t inform me, Assata.

What should I do, Assata? 

While you are still here for me to ask you the question

What should I do?

How did you find hope in your gunshot riddled and beaten body?

How did you not despair when your godson was taken away too soon?

When you were imprisoned with men

And they tried to murder both you and your hope

How did you escape to fight another day? 

Oh, 20 century escaped slave with a price on your head

A two million dollar bounty for helping people to get freed;

While America bends over backwards to exonerate a man murdering representative democracy

And renewing the call for your capture

The first amendment has been  shot through and beaten 

As if it were a Black Panther on the New Jersey Turnpike 

Tolls paid for with blood sweat and tears 

Hope left waterboarded, tortured, and gasping 

Through disinformation and the scrawl of a Sharpie marker

Assata, may the trade winds of Cuba ever caress your skin 

And Afro-Cuban music ever fill your ears. 

Spit in the direction of Mar Largo

And cast ancient curses at an Orange Man.

Should I learn how to make myself small like Harriet

Or should I become larger then Life itself like you?

If we sing out loud; or paint our murals; or march

Will the Space Force and the A.I. cameras see us? 

They are coming to get me

And I AM paranoid.

Justice is blind 

But not stupid. 

At midnight all the agents and the superhero crew 

Will round up all the people who Love more then they do

Then they’ll hook us to Alexis to publicize our dreams 

And sell our souls to Facebook and the information machines.

Ain’t I a woman, too?

Asks justice 

Taking off her blindfold 
And bearing her breasts.

Ain’t I a fuckin’ woman, too.

(Image Credit 1: LA Progressive) (Image Credit 2: Mural de Genero)

Sankofa: In Memory of Gil Scott Heron Now Eight Years Gone

Winter in America

Sankofa: In Memory of Gil Scott Heron Now Eight Years Gone

Warn me to battle not monsters, Gil
You gazed into the Abyss
And now you have become it.

I see you shining as I gaze at the Abyss also gazing

And trying not to become what I see.

Your body was dust and into dust it has returned.

Now I can hear the stones singing
Whenever I put my ear to the ground.

Songs of revelation and revolution
Rebirth and regeneration
I too am dust
Your poetry breathing life into me.


A million people in the streets of Hong Kong hear your songs
Umbrellas and heart
Verses bear spray and ballistic shields
Rubber bullets
And heavy riot sticks
For now their government listens
I mean
Could a million Chinese be wrong?

Trans activists reading the names of the fallen of their community
Telling their stories of hidden violence
Hear your songs.

Strike a pose for the Latinx who died on Rikers Island
Because she couldn’t raise $500 in bail money for a misdemeanor.
Her kindred also found dead on the streets of Texas
And beheaded on courthouse steps in Mexico.

Choiceless families of choice, don’t forget them after Pride month.

Speak no evil?

Larry Kramer already told us that silence equals death
Don’t forget how to act up.

It is good to go back to get what has been forgotten.

Names of kindred on heart shaped Stones
Left on Potter’s Field on a New York island
Or sewn on blankets presented on the National Mall
Now archived in Smithsonian Museums.

Remember the names
The stones
The blankets
And, most importantly the people.

Angry protestors in Tennessee hear your songs
The heads of 24 policemen provided the percussion section
Another officer involved shooting.

Let the earth be my weapon before it becomes my womb
Let me be judged by twelve
Before I am carried out by six.


Thirsty people seeking asylum hear your songs
So do the the Samaritans on trial for leaving them water in the desert
Facing 20 years in prison for acts of federal felony compassion.

For compassion’s sake they chant “No More Death”
A deadlocked jury still can’t decide between the spirit of the law
And the laws letters.

The dying continues:
The body of a six year old girl from India is found in the desert.

How did she get there?

And, who have we become?

Japanese Americans say history is repeating itself.
Interment camps reopening
With the same justification
National insecurity.

Mr. Sulu, we are still a long way from the Starship Enterprise
Our four-year mission is just to get an Orange Man’s foot
Out of America’s assAnd to boldly get back to
Where we were before.

It wasn’t good; but it was better
And better is good
Shout out Barack Obama
I understand you better now.

“Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you got‘
Til it’s gone.”

To those out there who still know how to throw a rock,
Light a fire
And make a gas mask out of
A wet handkerchief and human saliva I say:

Teach the children
They won’t find these skills on YouTube
Or Instagram.

Presenté, keepers of our memories.

Can you dust off your light sabers one more time
In this inelegant age of random blasters?
As the dying continues.

See no evil

Laura Engram defending white nationalisst on Fox News
While American war criminals are considered for presidential pardons.

But no one yet found guilty of polluting the drinking water in Flint Michigan.No one guilty of the deaths in our border prison camps.

5200 ICE detainees are quarantined with suspected cases of Mumps and Chicken Pox

The Hieleras becoming hot zones.


And just who blew up the oil tankers in the Gulf of Oman anyway?
Are we being prepared for an October surprise in June?

Who will harvest that bitter fruit come September?

Men set themselves on fire in Washington D.C.
And I think of Buddhist Monks in Vietnam in 1963
And lately Monks and nuns witnessing for Tibet
Middle Path adherents taking the belief in the impermanent
To an extreme
You only get to do that once!
Burn baby burn.


I hold up this candle next to your sun, Gil.
All of the songs you sang still work.
Which means how we are living here in America doesn’t.

Justice is blind still holding the scales of Libra.
But she is standing on an inclined plane
The pan that represents me and mine
Always the lighter of the two.

Once the question was:
Are there two separate and unequal justice systems in America?

Now the question is:
How many unequal Justice systems does America have?

Or, Is that just me being optimistic?

Avoiding the question
Is there a justice system at all?

Pardon my chagrin
Pardon my skepticism
Pardon me while I have to explain to young black men
That there is no pardon for playing with toy guns in a city parks.

Or selling loose cigarette to make ends meet.

Pardon me while I tell women that rape can be used as a tool of war Without an international outcry.

Or if I say Excusez-moi — will you think me more educated and therefore less of a target?


Camo-hiding Huxtable affectations do not work better then
A Kevlar vest
A helmet
And a good gas mask.
You could ask Sandra Bland
I mean, if she were alive.

Pardon me when I question that our answer to gun violenceis not reporting the shooter’s name on the news.

Hear no evil.

Pardon me when no matter how hard we try to prevent copy cat killings The killing continues.

I guess the non-copy cats must think they have come up with an amazingly original idea!

Pardon my invective.

Pardon my anger.

And pardon me for taking a bite out of you, Gil
To write this poem
There are no new ideas
Just ideas that are well stolen
From the past that is prologue.

Or, call it Sankofa looking back as I fly forward through time.

I feel so lost.

I’m just reaching back to help me on my journey forward.

May justice stand on a firm foundation.

May there be a level playing field to calibrate the scales of justice.

Take your thumb off of the scales
And keep your foot off of the earth’s neck
So we can all breathe again.

Hear no evil.

Why do I forget what I should remember
And remember what I should forget?

Hermann Hesse said that if I listened to the blending of all the outcries
I would hear OM the word of words.

I’m not that good yet.

But I can still hear you, Gil
In the rocks and stones and from the Abyss.
When I put my ear to the ground.

(Image Credit 1: OkayPlayer) (Image Credit 2: Berea College)

Goddess Kaddish: dedicated to Greta Thunberg a faithful Kaddishim

Goddess Kaddish: dedicated to Greta Thunberg a faithful Kaddishim

I can hear my mother call; can you hear your mother call?
The Mothers who have chosen to give birth
And The Mothers who have chosen not to

Can we let our Mothers choose 
While also choosing our Mothers?

Fetal heartbeat laws
Alabama, Georgia, Ohio, and Louisiana
Restrictive American meccas 
Using 21st century trick-nology to make medieval decisions.

The heartless say they hear a heartbeat
Could the Religious Right
Be religiously wrong?

Macrocosmic microcosmic contradictions
We use laws to remove choice from Mothers
While refusing to enact laws to protect Mother Earth 

Leave the seamless webs to Mother Ariadne
Because when we weave
our webs are frayed 
And misshapen 

And Mother knows best

To She whose name means: 
The Mother of all Living
Who continues to get a bad rap

To the serpent encircling the egg of creation who waits patiently for our realization.

Auṃ saṃ Sarasvatyai namaḥ॥
Hail to Thee oh Source of all Wisdom

May Her great Name grow exalted and sanctified

ॐशान्ति: शान्ति: शान्ति:॥
Oṃ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ॥
Amen Peace, Peace, Peace

In the world that She created as She willed
May Her sovereignty prevail in your lifetimes and in your days, 
And in the lifetimes of the entire world family
Swiftly and soon. 
Now say: 

ॐशान्ति: शान्ति: शान्ति:॥
Oṃ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ
Amen Peace, Peace, Peace

May her Names be blessed forever and ever

I can hear my mother call; can you hear your mother call?

But no science applying to Mother Earth.
Why listen to climate science when you can just guess?

Black milk from the breast of mother earth 
 she nurses us patiently
But will we ever be weaned?

To Greta Thunberg who sees her long body already perceiving herself
As mother 
As crone 
As ancestor

Sixteen year old Tetragrammaton 
She is three in one and one in three 
And speaks as the mystical fourth
Obsessively and compulsively seeing the world in Black and White
So that it may stay forever Green

The celebration of the earth needs more then a single day
One million species at risk of extinction in the next twenty years

The greatest threat to biodiversity


(We see you, Monsanto) 

Can we collectively reassemble this shattered vessel while there is still time

tikkun olam:
Goddess will only come to earth when she is no longer needed.

All poets have selective mutism and speak only when necessary
And this is one of those times
Oh sing, Greta 
Sing you faithful kaddishim
Your skin, bone, and heretic’s heart be your authority.

Auṃ srīṃ Lakṣhmyai namaḥ॥
Hail to Thee Oh Source of all riches

Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled,
Mighty, upraised, and lauded be the Name The Triple Goddess
Blessed is She.
Beyond any blessing and song, 
Beyond any praise and consolation that are uttered in the world.
Now say:

ॐशान्ति: शान्ति: शान्ति:॥
Oṃ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ॥
Amen Peace, Peace, Peace

May Her Name be blessed forever and ever

I can hear my mother call; can you hear your mother call?
To the earth mothers through whose hands the Goddess feeds
Can you see her hands in all hands hands?
Making a chapati
Or a flour tortilla
A loaf of bread 
Sweet potato flat bread
Or offering fermented cabbage and a single bowl of rice

Auṃ krīṃ kālyai namaḥ॥
Hail to She who takes away the darkness 

Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled,
Mighty, upraised, and lauded be the Name 
Of She who governs the fullness of time
Blessed is She
Blessed beyond any blessing and song, 
Beyond any praise and consolation that are uttered in the world. 
Now say: 

ॐशान्ति: शान्ति: शान्ति:॥
Oṃ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ॥
Amen Peace, Peace, Peace

To the Virgin
To the Naiad 
To the Crone
In her fear inducing 
And beneficent forms
Can you see her vigorously pointing 
Spanking your bare bottom
Or using a shoe like a boomerang

(Boy! I brought you into this world and I can take you out, too)

To the Angels in suffragette white raising the roof in Congress; 
The workers striking and singing Bread and Roses
The burnt wreckage of our lady in Paris 
The Black meteoric stone in Mecca encased in Vaginal shaped silver 
We all come from The Mother and unto Her we shall return

ॐह्रींश्रीं  दुं दुर्गायैनमः॥
Auṃ hrīṃ srīṃ duṃ durgāyai namaḥ॥
Hail to She who is difficult to approach
Grantor of Increase
Who Removes all Difficulties

May there be abundant peace from Heaven 
And life upon us and upon all the world
Now say:

ॐशान्ति: शान्ति: शान्ति:॥
Oṃ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ॥
Amen Peace, Peace, Peace

I can hear my mother call. Can you hear your mother call?

To the Southern Black Women in a galvanized steel tub
Who laundry danced so that I could fly
Oh mother I would kiss those soapy feet if I could

To the German char woman who could
and eat 
every single part of a pig
“Brains is good waste not want not”
she would say

Three boxes of detergent in her cupboard at all times 
When one was empty 
Time to buy a replacement box

To Sister mothers who held my hand while mama died
She who habitually stole the last crispy perfect french fry 
From my dinner plate

From womb to tomb
Womb to tomb 
again and again
be they 
Or Earthly dust

We all come from The Mother and unto Her we shall return

She who makes peace in Her heights, may She make peace, 
Upon us and upon all the world
Now say:

ॐशान्ति: शान्ति: शान्ति:॥
Oṃ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ śhāntiḥ॥
Amen Peace, Peace, Peace

Mother you are full of grace
And blessed are we the fruit of Your womb
Bless us now and in the hour of our deaths and rebirths

(Photo Credit: Hanna Franzen / Reuters / New Scientist)

Reconstruction Endgame

Reconstruction Endgame 

Those who live history are condemned to learn it.
Oh! snap your fingers Thanos and make half of all of this shit go away

I want to lose the half that had the lynchings and the chains
James Byrd Jr. in Texas
Trayvon Martin in Florida
(Stand your ground)
Eric Garner in Brooklyn 
(I can’t breathe!)
Cause of death selling loosies 

Church Burnings and shootings
Synagogue and Mosque Massacres
And don’t forget the high schools and The Trenchcoat Mafias
And yet to come

A long time comin’
Came and went.

The false hope and the misplaced optimismDon’t let them turn you into a Black Minstrel in Whiteface, Barrack
I want to hear you sing
Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen: the remix

But sing it like an R&B singer 
During this reconstructed Reconstruction 
Remind us how to have faith and hope and love
Because hoping IS audacious.
Call your debut solo album Stolen Legacy 3.0 the citizen years
Endeavor to persevere

Do we really have to live this time line
Or can our future be changed?

Let all the White girls sing  
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
And take a walk on the wild side 
Attend hot yoga classes in $200 leotards anywhere you want
Global warming is everywhere

Take off your pretty pink
Knitted kitten hats
And please don’t have 52% of you vote for a male finger fucker.
Your soup can reality shaped by
Facebook posts, Instagram and reTweets
Hope and Change
In this Reconstruction End Game

Death, walk on an ocean of blood
And sacrifice your children to achieve your ends
Kill affordable healthcare
What do you care?

You are old and will retire in comfort
Then turn to dust
In a universe rebuilt in your image

Turn the dreams into nightmares
And snuff hope out, oh! you retroactive abortionist
Protect the unborn but kill the fully grown
Pray to Capitalism and jesus™️
Hug the flag but kill the mothers
And veto UN resolutions condemning rape as a tool of war

Avengers Assemble!!!!!
The children of D.W. Griffith are marching on Charlottesville 
And in Neo-Imperial Coronations  
Rebirth of a Nation: the sequel 
Non-colorful costumes embossed with runic symbols
Illumined by tiki torches carried by the very fine.

But then, D.C. invented the dark hero-vers 

Someone tried to teach me this story when I was little 
But I thought
Who wants to learn this old shit
Teach me about Kennedy, and King
Or Malcolm, or Patrice Lumumba
Teach me about Mau Mau 
And Eldridge 
I want to learn how to say my name in Swahili
And figure out why our favorite musicians are all blind and wear dark sunglasses

Put us on television and accept us into colleges
I want to dance to Miriam Makeba’s Pata Pata 
And look fly in an Ivory Coast Dashiki 
My Afro glittering with oily Johnson hair care products
Then in this time line 
Someday I’ll hear a Black poet laureate recite:
And Still I Rise

But today if I took the Pulse of the Morning 
Today when congressional subpoenas can simply be ignored
Today when 400-page Mueller Reports can be summarized with four pages of lies
Today when Obama is the hope that dare not speak its name
If I took The Pulse of this morning 
It would be dead
Killed by the same stories I wouldn’t learn as a child

But those who live history 
Are condemned to learn it.

(Photo Credit: PBS)

The Stephen Miller Bans

Gollum awaits

The Stephen Miller Bans

Once he looked like all of us,
But now?

He won’t let go of his Precious.
And it’s changing him.
Changing US.

Is he just a state of the art special effect that looks so real?
And if so, 
who does motion capture for this balding homunculus?

Straight out of central casting!

What happened Stephen?
Did somebody not give you a birthday present?  


Maybe the rage comes from being a closet incel

Just because you yell doesn’t make it true.

Surah An-Nās 

Says, “I seek refuge in the Lord of mankind, 

The Sovereign of mankind, 

The God of mankind, 

From the evil of the retreating whisperer, 

who whispers evil into the breasts of mankind, 

from among the jinn and mankind.”

Nobody calls him the space cowboy
Nobody calls him the gangster of love
But some people call him Gollum
For what he clutches 
and just won’t let go of

His boss: Orange Sauron 
Builder of oil pipelines,

Advocate of both “clean coal” 
and Patron Saint of Black Lung 

Denude the National Parks of their trees 
Pardon Domestic White terrorists 
and point Steve Miller at defenseless living beings

The One king to rule them all,
With One party to bind them,
One cage to imprison them all,
And on the border find them.

His eye is upon us.

His Republican Wraith riders of immigration 
hovering over Home Depots and restaurant kitchens
Menacing sanctuary cities 
And churches that give asylum and refuge

If ad hominem is Latin for personal attack
What is Latin for an attack on people in need of honest work
And a social safety net?

Surah Al-Falaq

Says, “I seek refuge in the Lord of daybreak

From the evil of that which He created

And from the evil of darkness when it settles

And from the evil of the blowers in knots

And from the evil of an envier when he envies.”

If the Grand Canyon were the crack of Mount Doom
And America were a ring on my finger,
Could I let Orange Sauron’s twisted minion bite my finger off
To save America’s soul?

Red, White, and Blue

Could I fly like a Spirit let The Eagle carry me?
Feed the children who don’t have enough to eat?
Shoe the children with no shoes on their feet?
House the people living in the street?
Curtail greenhouse gas pollution? 


Would I be overcome by Wraith riders on flying gerrymanders,
Does my vote count even once?
Why is the popular vote and the Electoral College decision a paradox?

Icy blades of voter suppression, 
conservative court nominations,
Orange Man running for reelection
And agenda domination
And the freedom to reproduce applying only to chaos

Will America’s old wounds ever heal?

Roads go ever ever on
Candidates from both parties
Using immigrants as pawns
To find a single nominee.

At the age of thirty-three
Setting America on fire
Lacking personality
Steven Miller you have my ire.

Agitation instead of integration 
Attempting to stem the surge of the global Brown Tsunami  

 Surah Al Ihklās:

Says, “He is Allah,


Allah, the Eternal Refuge.

He neither begets nor is born,

Nor is there to Him any equivalent.

News cycle 24/7 365

Facebook status complicated

Can we get our Gollum to fall into the crack of Mount Doom
But first make him let go of his Precious?

‘Cause this time we need to save The Ring
The onus of an epic task 
On the least and the smallest among us.

As time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future.

(Image Credit: Wikipedia)

Don’t Bogart this country!

Don’t Bogart this country!

No more room in the inn?

Conservative Christians know just what Jesus would do,

They just ain’t doin’ it. 

I mean: they just ain’t doin’
What was done for Jesus.

Dorothy Day, and Father Daniel Berrigan we miss you. 
We miss you and so many others.

If I had a hammer.

These angry old men wearing red hats,

and taking blue pills,

 are melting down ploughshares and turning them into guns again.

And they say America is full — there is no more room.

Well — I’ve been to the Dakotas and that’s just bullshit!

Maybe we’ll find room when we can’t get our avocado toast, triple latte, and strawberries.

Ahh, but the strawberries! That’s – that’s when we’ll care.

Persnickety keto and vegan diets will make us care.

Rising price of coffee will make us care.

Lack of avocado will make us care.

Or, we can ask the American in Tampico wearing a white suit:

Say, mister. Will you stake a fellow American to a meal?
Can you help an American down on his luck?

And he says:
Not a South American
Not a Central American
Not an American from Puerto Rico—but I’ll throw them some paper towels
And definitely not an American from Guam — but, they are great for medical experimentation. 

American wannabes. 

America is full.

I mean look: 

When I say “mare nostrum” I mean it’s mare nostrum to over fish or to pollute.

We don’t want to actually feed anybody.

He says all this while pretending to read the poem on the Statue of Liberty,

When actually he’s just peeking up her robes looking for something to grab.

But it’s too high up; and, he’s so lowdown.

Oh, play it again Uncle Sam!

You know what I want to hear,
You played it for her, you can play it for me!
If she can stand it, I can!
Play it!

Sing the third verse, too:

“No refuge could save the hireling and slave
from the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave.
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

And, offer these Three gifts 

to newborn princesses and princes of peace,

And their queen mothers asking for mercy,

Razor wire, tear gas, and burns.

Armored troops on the boarder attacking children,

Now where did I hear this before?

Stories of insecure kings trying to separate children from their mothers and kill saviors in their cribs.

So many people floating down rivers in reed boats trying to escape,

Where is the merciful Queen who will take them all in and offer them nobility, healthful environment, and education?

And would it be too much to ask for funding for Women Studies Programs, Planned Parenthood, and affordable health care as long as were dreaming here in this nightmare together?

Rise, Dreamers, rise.

And, like Moses, free yourselves and your people. Help them to find their place in this land of promise.

 Resist all of the Charlton Hestons with guns and MAGA hats. 

Some superheroes don’t wear masks, capes, armor, or costumes. 

Some heroes wear hijabs, or used to work in bars for a minimum wage and tips — the true Marvels in D.C.

Brown skinned Saviors, teach us all how to dream again. Help us to hear our own beating hearts 

and the grasshopper at our feet.

This nation of actors:

Acting White House Thief of Staff: Mick Mulvaney,

Acting Ambassador to the Divided Nations: Jonathan Cohen,

Acting Inferior Secretary: David Bernhardt,

Acting Offense Secretary: Patrick Shanahan,

Acting Homeland Insecurity Secretary: Kevin McAleenan,

And, they all have badges,

they all have stinking badges,

They can actually show you their stinking badges!

They just don’t have job security. 

But, some of them have very dubiously obtained security clearances.

To ousted Homeland Security Secretary Kirstjen Nielsen we ask:

 is it true blondes have more fun?

Asked and answered!

All while Dolt 45, the director of this political theater 

is acting like Captain Queeg from The Caine Mutiny

But what America needs is Rick from Casablanca.

What America actually has is Agent Orange walking arm in arm down a runway at Reagan National Airport with Stephen Miller, 

The beginning of a very decisive friendship.

(Photo Credit: NPR / The Kobal Collection)

Neoliberals: stop co-opting our symbols!

Neoliberals: stop co-opting our symbols! 

Next thing you know they will be emulating the Last Poets, the progenitors of Gil Scott Heron. 

The Revolution Will Not Be Broadcast on Social Media; and, will not be represented by yellow stars on the arms of antivaxxers

The revolution will not have very fine people on both sides.

The revolution will not be delivered by Amazon Smile 24 hours later; and, it will not be a part of your monthly cyclic preorder.

The revolution will not be fought on a flat earth; by neonazis with flat tops; while the flat tax is lower on people who own most of America; who came to Washington not to drain the swamp but to infest it.

The revolution will not be broadcast on social media; or underwritten by Sackler family opiate money — because why shake your head when it’s easier to just nod.

The revolution will not be broadcast on social media.

This Is Us, Veep, and Game of Thrones will no longer be so goddamn relevant when the Walking Dead fill the streets covered with mutated childhood diseases Jonas Salk can’t even begin to cure.

The revolution will not be broadcast on social media.

The revolution will not be broadcast 

will not be broadcast 

will not be broadcast 

The revolution might not even happen at all.

(Image Credit: Sound Cloud / Jessy James LaFleur)