, , ,

a blue moon on a summer night

and all of those with

red flags tumble down the hill

until the fight for workers right is

finished and they can

all text their boyfriends and

explain how the pains of colonialism

have past and

the promise of capital will be spent

on more, but better

flags.  A storm swirls up

a reporter, but not before his dispatch

spells out a class free beauty, a love free