The Seventeen

The Seventeen

like laughter-clatter, ArmaLite refuse
echoes up the hall. A shrill metal bird
has been paid to sing arson
and lure us to fire.

Riddled, we watch
as others prod, fiddle
with our holes, feel
for the thin veil of prayer
the dosh demands be woven
–ever retroactively–into our skin.

Let their fingers burn.

“We are going to be the kids you read about in textbooks.”

Here she is: Hope–the angelspeak burns inside our corpses.
The filaments of false-god that dangle from the tongues
that dangle from the mouths which hang us out to dry
catch fire, and now we are sacred. Holy. Set apart.

Great Chain-Reaction:
We are godsong in their skin,
Eaglethroat mounted o’er all terrestrial halls
to sing of more furious embers that burn
through the woven lines of society.

We are the children. The last to die
and our souls scream democracy.
This is where it ends.

Please take the time to watch or read Emma Gonzalez’s original speech here.

And–when the midterms come–please, please vote.

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