April rain,
but tears not enough
to caption this mural of America,
this Guernica.
Amendments shredded. Lives axed.
One hundred days of Artificial
Imbecility.
A dainty dish to serve before the king.
Yet, yet…
There is always human tropism,
Like bent branch,
An insurrection of green
signifying more than strut and fret.
Let the litter of broken promises
become our mulch.
New rhizomes and roots
can be seismically felt
and kindred faces never before
appear in the street.
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