If every generation spoke
before my time, Is it not my
right to also speak? The usual
channels are gummed up and rusted.

Unfortunate it is that rights
are a fragile construct. Performed
badly, they disappear as steel
wire in a shower of hotness

and so many people have thought
steamed from their mind these days I fear
everything. Why am I writing?
I’m afraid of reading the news

and what else am I supposed to
do? Not ask the late world to split,
distinguish itself from itself?
Let it be, and in respect to

it allow its continuance?
I hear my friend’s solemn prayer –
Gods not dead. He’s alive, and plays
for Barcelona. I just can’t

express my self any longer.
There’s so much going on in me,
but it turns out none of it helps.
as the whole world shivers and bends

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