(It is 2:30 am, and the poet is working, just as usual, to the accompaniment of squeaks, whistles, hooting moans and pebbles thrown vanside.

This poet sure would like to be able to go back to writing about sunsets.

She thanks historian Zambrotta of Italy for printing for compilation all posts and correspondences concerning this targeted victimization ~ blithely ignored by law enforcement for two long years ~ nationwide.

A nation which has no backup for its poets deserves no backup from its poets.)

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Recorded Reading (2:06): https://www.dropbox.com/s/arruljpxff324s0/This%20is%20How%20we%20Do%20it%20Here.mp3?dl=0

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How We Do it Here

We don’t kill our writers
In the Land of Hate ~
We practice benign neglect:
All we have to do is wait!
We cultivate confusion
And wait complacently
It’s never long before some wrong
Frustrated citizen
Will of their lives a misery
To make eager begin
So what if that mad operator
Does a little damage?
So long as he helps us our damn
Creative minds to manage
Gosh, if we let them loose
They’d have us loving one another
How would we keep “order”
When you think you’re my brother?
No, they cannot accuse us
Elimination artists of
We have more subtle, clever ways
To make sure they don’t move
The hearts of our complacent
Worker clones to joy ~
We wish this one would hurry up
And waste away, though, boy!
She’s got the planet listening
To how we run our trip
The truth our reputation
In the world begins to rip ~
We might have to go further
With this coherent one
Unlike most she can clearly say
We all deserve a little fun
She says the sunset’s beautiful
And we should treat each other well
And other things too awful
For our civilized tongues to tell
We think we are defending
The American Dream
We’re only actually defending
What we want to seemly seem
A beacon of well doing
To the world around
So continue to ignore
The pathetic sound
Of our two million prisoners
And millions others, tethered to
The seamy side of highly moral
National procedures view
And that’s not even mentioning
The citizens of this clean world
Our miners and our foul refiners
Have into poisons hurled
We neglect our artists
Not because we just don’t care
We wish of our hypocrisy
They will not make the world aware

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This poet is physically disabled. Public housing being insufficient to her medical and creative needs, she is presently living, in order to continue working, in her minivan, publishing all of her works using one thumb on the touch screen of her smartphone, surviving at an income of a fraction of her nation’s poverty level. She would treasure any donation you might care to offer ~ http://www.UgiftABLE.com ● #72D-31S.

Please be aware that it takes several days for the poet to be notified of contributions. International contributors please contact the poet via email or post comment for necessary numbers.

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