AGELESS REVOLUTION
is the revolution
ageless?
does it
crawl on its
hind legs?
taken into
the house
of one too
many,
the revolution
has
definitions
that
stretch
through
filters
on a
cigarette,
that
stretch from
funnels
pouring
gasoline
over newly
tended
roses,
stretched over
newlywed’s
bedsheets
that fog into
the morning
light.
is it inside of
lady liberty’s
torch,
inside of
our mothers’
stockings,
the revolution
knows no home
for too many people
have called it that,
the revolution
begs no name
for too many people
have named it,
the revolution
never recalls
the past;
it lives only
inside of
the future’s
pill bottle
waiting to be
swallowed
like water
in a pool.
the revolution
never has its legs
open, too
many men have
taken advantage
of it.
the revolution
doesn’t cat call,
the revolution
finds
solace in the
charcoal
cheek of the moon,
its crescent
fills the
time, its
edges; so
imperfect, call
it’s name.
the revolution
never cowers
because
it knows the true
“no mercy” rule
of today.
the revolution
has no
birthplace,
no passport,
no official citizenship,
no rights,
but it fights for
infidelity towards
the system,
it fights for
healed and
opened wounds.
it lives in the
backyard of
black, queer,
trans women.
About the Writer