front porch pipe bombs

they can tell you

about bodies

burning

in the streets

about

trash in gutters

with bits of

skin and

statues ripped down

it smells like barbecue

sounds like hell

feels like the heat of spent

shells

no time for shell shock.

in times like that

no chaos without peace,

no peace without chaos.

no reaching the heavens

without roots in hell

so

pressing pause

on domesticated slaughter

of the poor

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