#dcterrorists

Wake up! You said the mirror’s here— deconstructing mother to construct a shameless father: degenerate, a smasher, twitter-retching Loud.

Wake up! There are a million men led by two million women, electric chested, blasting “CHOICE”, armed with voice and colossal pressure-- fear the thunder of the raised-up signs.

Wake up! I am. You said I need to hear the call. Demoralize-you bullets have been fired, let’s king the high-spots on the wall-- you’re goddamned right I’m up.

I’m up! awake for years— awake to see the soul-caustic wild wolves all around, to see the black snake handlers deceiving in slithers like ruthless force.

I’m up. I’ve been awake for most of this impending break, for the milieu-booming snap of the Republic.

I’m here, with everyone, covered in the shifting threat, reeling divergents we; hold on, my sisters, my brothers, because they’ve been feeding the masses AR-15 dreams--stars & stripes stocks and bolts etched with the crooked crosses of blind obedience-- hold on to the fighting instinct you never thought you had, it’s all happening so flash and I can barely think and I am no Walt Whitman looking at the bones, but I am the shadow atypical, I am the scream SCREAM of poetry—I’ll blow the bugles to plough the fray, to take the day, make no parleys and in the end we’ll own the clay, red or otherwise, we will excommunicate the drone.

I’m here,,,, in full blown panic attack, breathing heavy, eyes reaching, chest and soul vibing like I’ve been dropped from panic fear-wrought clouds—my voice is now a thunder rage, it is survival.

All because I know:                          WAR is Coming.                                         And the voices will beat: “Your vibe is a sick tempo, mr.prez, you who drinks the beastly alcohol of hate, golf swinging next to child-filled graves, tis the band-aid of your psychosis—so go into the black and expand until you’re nothing at the edge of the universe. And we’ll hold. We the armada, we are like the rain, you can try to punch and shoot us all, but we’re falling down upon you anyway. We will not take seats, we will persist! My name is human, and I’m here for warfare with the storm.”

They’re in plain sight now; they’re here to stare us in the eye while protecting black-heart monuments of moral pestilence-- we’re eye to eye, so do not turn away. It’s on the hill led by the fascist psycopomp declaring you must listen, because you’re lost--beware the blue-blood devils transmitting words of ear-worms to turn you, turn you to a low life. But the truth’s in the horizon. You’ll see the plumes of War, prepare for War, reinforce the foxholes of your intellect--we are the Soul Armada, We will RISE and not divide, HOLD ON for the rising abomination of battle. 

And we’ll stand in place, with our love, to the torn brim with dreams of dreaming once again.

Inside a seeming peace before the impact. I breathe, with a half-smile, knowing it was THEM who came to paint us black. We’ll pay them back at sunrise. 

So here I lie, under covers just before,

and waiting for the fight.

BECAUSE I WILL. ؑX