Hank Cunnington

four score

a deep sense of rage
bubbles beneath the surface
            not quite strong enough to spill over
into clouds of steam and smog
but enough to erupt at the
slightest hiss of anarchy
 
if I must be the
next mother fucker
to throw a brick
i will     i will not let anyone
hurt us or lay hands on us where
they do not belong
 
i feel the heartbreak of a
nation of my community        my
loved ones      the fear raw as teeth
scraped over bone crunched
between dirty molars and marrow
sucked clean
 
inside  nothing left but splinters
of whom we used to be
             whom we ought to be
 
if i have to be the next inspiration or
brave example, I will
            or tragic inspiration    i will
life cut short “oh, so soon”     but
remember me every
november       dear
 
because I would slit my throat
before I bent over and let
some fuckhead convince us to
live in fear       i will let the blood
gurgle from my lips
             drips
just to be who i am
 
            deep drags of cigarettes split
the skin of my neck     spluttering and
dripping with copper ooze      we
need not vocal chords to scream
            need not gods or government
to split skulls and rain ashy confetti from the sky
 
this community of the Queers
and Dykes, by the Trannies, for the Faggots,
shall not perish from this earth.
Shall not Perish from this Earth.
Shall Not Perish From This Earth.