Let me be untranslated matter in this
age of self-declared kings and salesmen—
this court our royal stage. How quiet the
white-hot nimble name, each upload
an upset to mortality’s unimpressed
bibliography. It feels like dead sound
the way you sculpt a lifetime through
good timing, through nobody’s hot
breath. Here lies Antoinette and
a facsimile report on the dearth of
formula water milk toilet paper bread
Even before February 28, the reasons for Donald Trump’s imploding approval rating were abundantly clear: untrammeled corruption and personal enrichment to the tune of billions of dollars during an affordability crisis, a foreign policy guided only by his own derelict sense of morality, and the deployment of a murderous campaign of occupation, detention, and deportation on American streets.
Now an undeclared, unauthorized, unpopular, and unconstitutional war of aggression against Iran has spread like wildfire through the region and into Europe. A new “forever war”—with an ever-increasing likelihood of American troops on the ground—may very well be upon us.
As we’ve seen over and over, this administration uses lies, misdirection, and attempts to flood the zone to justify its abuses of power at home and abroad. Just as Trump, Marco Rubio, and Pete Hegseth offer erratic and contradictory rationales for the attacks on Iran, the administration is also spreading the lie that the upcoming midterm elections are under threat from noncitizens on voter rolls. When these lies go unchecked, they become the basis for further authoritarian encroachment and war.
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all gone during a juicy-sesh of self-care
slash thoughts and prayers. Headless,
we got carried away.
We had a lot to do.
While immigrants walked for miles and
immigrants bled hurricanes into boats
and immigrants without power turned
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into reams of discount paper at Target’s
Big Blowout Labor Day Sale. Remember
worst nightmares as uncollected social
security? Me neither. I’m trying to save
up enough vacation time to sleep forever,
but a knife’s at my back most days, at the
edge of mother’s maiden name. And
five nights out of seven, my neighbor’s
outside breaking down Amazon boxes
while the cat pleads the fifth,
sleeps ‘til noon.
Surely, you know, sire, I jest. I’m just a
simpleton, a citizen, a sure-bet sidepiece.
All I want is your decent-blooded love.
Jessica Q. StarkJessica Q. Stark is a poet, educator, and editor that lives in Jacksonville, Florida.