Paralyzed, just for the moment
I tick oxygen, movement trickles
down my spine. I’m
thousands of miles removed, but
present by post, participating
in a paradox I scarcely support

The air is stale, fog of gunpowder
settling. We now return to our
program. Let’s appropriate.
I ponder origins, skimming
stones, the surface of the
calendar reflects centuries
of sentiment, most negative.
Most I refute. But I love a
celebration, and holidays are
built on people. Let’s explode
shimmering on the skyline.
Let’s elect to live our own way.
Let’s shed lies sending politicians
slithering to the sidelines. They
may have their day, but the night
will always be ours.

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