The Name of this Poem is 'And Today'.

Dispatch
03-13-02024

And today, I swear to see every face as one resting upon a friend,

        Even the Christian grindset faces,

        sporting gleaming white 𝗝𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗮𝗻𝘀

        and 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕵𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘,

        soaking in the sweat of arm crooks.


Even the faces above shirts that say,

        ‘𝓥𝓲𝓫𝓮𝓼’ or ‘𝙋𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙈𝙖𝙢𝙖’ or ‘𝐄𝐚𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥’


Especially the face of the dude wearing ʙɪʀᴋᴇɴꜱᴛᴏᴄᴋꜱ and an ankle monitor

         (ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴀʀʙᴏʀ).


Eating wholly & fully ‘𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥’— free of every foreign monocrop and East Asian polymer — leaves me with bitter few options,

         because nobody planted a fruit tree for me yesterday,

         and I’m too mad about it today to plant one.


Even still, I’m keeping it ‘𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥’,

         on all-fours in my unkempt yard,

         gnashing on dandelion weeds

         like a dog with an upset stomach.


The dandies are bitter,

         and I am bitter,

         and I feast on them with a fool’s faith that . . .

       

𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮.




And today I swear upon my discipline, my ideals, and the green stuck in my fangs.

         Discipline and ideal's jab-cross combo

         has hardened my abs,

         destroyed my assets,

         and extended the delivery time far past . . .


𝗦𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆.


No, my do-no-harm’s do no favors to my finances,

          but they don’t mind abusing

          a poorly monitored self-checkout.

          An avocado is my tax on Whole Food Market

          for the unpaid labor they thought I'd never notice.


I spend best when I lose my wallet,

         transforming cash to some unseen friend's come-up,

         or surrendering it to the Earth’s eternal project

         of transforming all things back to soil.




I spend the worst every place that ends in ™.


I spend and earn mostly from that dichotomy’s mid,

         griping slick tethers tied to the best of me,

         trying to buy less and less

         of more and more hi-tech firepower.


Drawing in deep life-giving breaths,

         and remembering that even caskets carry sales tax.


The air heaves through my chest like the sluggish cyclone of a cement mixer,

        dogged on by the destructive promise of a ceased revolution.


And today I pledge fealty to all poems in me,

         like a sugar in my fuel lines,

         that never flushes out fully.

         It’s building up to fast.

         My blood runs sweet as a 𝗕𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗘𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗴𝘆 𝗗𝗲𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘄𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗞𝗶𝘀𝘀.

         My engine has seized.

         I've been barred from all gig labor.

         My delivery times?

         Atrocious.

         ★


And today, smelling of lemon, I sit on the lot.

         Dandelions grow up through the engine block,

         as I rust over with the honest patina of stillness + time,

         wondering,

         busted beyond repair,


Iᔕ TᕼIᔕ ᗰᗩᑕᕼIᑎE ᗰOᖇE ᗷEᗩᑌTIᖴᑌᒪ?




And today I remembered that death alone doesn’t make an ancestor.

         A corpse is not the ticket of admission to the altar.

         Living!

         Living!

         Earnest living,

         earns that photo of me a spot,

         between the sage smudge and amethyst.

         Life gives me life-after-death.


And today they’re far less cops at the protest,

         and I don't think they’re being lulled into a false sense of security.

         I don't think we'll strike when they least expect it.

         I think the barricades are all unmanned.


The few cops here film the faces of my friends with ever new recognition tech.

         Maybe pictures do cut apart a soul.

         Bits of my best efforts,

         stored in basement servers I helped buy.


“𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗼𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻!”


Shouts a young DSA speaker through the rally's mic array.

         He answered by a man in the crowd,

         with a child on his shoulders . . .


“𝗡𝗼, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻! 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘇𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘂𝗹𝘂𝗺𝘀, 𝗻𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝗸𝘀. 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗳 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻."


And today, I will love today as much as I love my wildest dream for tomorrow.


And today, I hear myself call out to myself


        𝙾𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕, 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎!

        𝙾𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕, 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎!

        𝙾𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕, 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎!

        𝙾𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 . . .