Incorporeal

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turn it off . . .
bombings here . . .
there . . .
every fucking where . . .
men in blue . . .
harass, tase, shoot . . .
fearing the unknown . . .
so eliminate . . .
one wrong done . . .
don’t make another right . . .
blood, blood of blue . . .
living lives . . .
are lives that die . . .
black lives . . .
all lives . . .
by any means . . .
peaceful discord . . .
how many decades . . .
how many centuries . . .
what year is this . . .
hate me, love me . . .
the color of my skin . . .
black or white . . .
blindly I see hate . . .
I search for peace . . .
I am not a traitor . . .
I am not a warrior . . .
I’m a living soul . . .
a vehicle of love . . .
in this monstrosity . . .
the whole world is here . . .
it seems . . .
in this drug induce nightmare . . .
the alarm clock is pulsating . . .
wake up can’t you hear . . .
the lights are strobe-ing . . .
can’t you see them . . .
I’m woozy . . .
my tummy’s queasy . . .
does anyone care? . . .
who cares? . . .
doesn’t living matter? . . .

©Kimberly Wilhelmina Floria 9/16

Thanks for visiting come back tomorrow and read my new poem Nostalgic Remorse