Wool jacket fastened halfway up, buttons catching the light like June Bugs Drawing close, he whispers like a branch, one leaf rubbing another Home comes through in the ripples in the lake as the cool wind brings me back Summer in Razliv with the founder, the radical, the will-be revolutionary He speaks words like…
Lots of my friends/ say they are/ Anarchists/ but they do not/ own guns/ or know how to/ properly/ insert an IV/ or clean and/ stitch a wound.
Dedicated to activist, scholar, writer, and FBI’s Most Wanted, Angela Davis
Sleeping with Maduro,
Drinking Alone with Ernesto Cardenal
My front garden will be full of daffodils. I will hang a black flag from the porch. You could read Kropotkin out loud to the children before bed. No matter my exhortations, they still ask for princes.
“Karl Marx… had in mind Texas.” – Saul Padover
Hold the fort For we are coming… I.W.W. Battle Song Mallet men of manifest destiny keep time; women waulking tweed keep time; rhythmic stomps, knocks of cloth on plank; a song; if we still raised our voices like progeny; like singing lineage; the fluid life of memory; inheritance; in time; with time; in step; […]
Ralston Crawford Photographs the Negroes of Dryades St. c. 1950 What most interested him was the play of light on their dark skin: a shine or patina, a field upon the field. At the Dew Drop Inn, the San Jacinto Social Club, the dancers and musicians, posed engaging problems of framing and composition. In […]