ALL WE HAVE TO LOSE IS OUR TRAIN OF THOUGHT

back during slavery, all the owners
saying they were just rehearsing
for the tarantino film, saying
this’ll make a great shot, just wait
till the pathos is referential, like
grabbing your shoulder during a heart
attack – history rides on into the
smokey night, unchained. un pissoir
de l’histoire, en l’accent grave. bang,
belang, los.

This entry was posted in massacre, poetry, representation, violence. Bookmark the permalink.

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