what we have to do must be done in the now*  

now I might ask ‘why is my city not cleaner’

we want to move beyond the beat of survival 

move faltering move across a line or border scramble to

beyond the beat of a beating of the bills of a weekday 

evening vigil for a child. what to do with this constant 

grief, will you hold my grief, just for a moment, watch it fit the groove

as in: a long, narrow cut or depression in a hard material. 

through this hardening the polis polishes his horns 

pisses out legislation passing it like stone and

my parents browse electric cars accuse me 

of hyperbole when I use the word fascist

there are so many things to be thankful for 

the days growing 

fat and strong as

concave truth fades 

in an empty room

*Audre Lorde