Guns For Pacifists

This will not go anywhere
There is no where to go
No place to stage mass exodus
No flights out
No rental cars
Buses
Trains
Or pedicabs
No absconding under covers
No pointing the rudder
Toward brighter horizons
No shelter until the fallout settles
No

This toxic waste
This is home now
And we can choose
To live with it
Wallow in it
And our own self-pity
Ignore the skin sloughing off our acid-rubber bones
Watch our chromosomes reconfigure
To melt our infants
Down into microcephalic soup
Or
We can handle the assholes that won’t stop
Dumping carcinogens and radioactivity
Clean up the fuck-mess
We allowed them to make
And salvage the remains
Of our future

It might not be easy
Or popular
But force becomes the only viable option
When passive solutions
Meet endlessly with propaganda
False-flags
Steam rollers
Just following orders
Fire hoses
Workday ennui
Bullets and batons
Riot shields and zip ties
Facial recognition software
Debtors prisons
And a seemingly endless comfort
Which makes it easy
To dismiss
All of the above
Black-bagging your siblings
In the front yard
Where it’s not your problem

The time has come again
To live dangerously
To take back
Because freedom is not a privilege
Unless you let it become one


But don’t listen to me
I’m just a turkey
With a poetic license to kill
And a thirst
For something better
As likely to be quenched
As drowned by the downpour.

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About Moly

Average, boring, self-involved human. Twitter: @CultOfCocktails Facebook: facebook.com/MolyTov
This entry was posted in Poetry, Written, Written Work and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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