I like the idea of a good riot. The idea.
I’d like to riot over the notion of sides,
one pit pitted against another.
Here’s a Molotov cocktail on that one.
Here’s a broken bottle,
a fire extinguisher, a god damned trash bin
rolled down the hill at that so-called other side.
Here’s an epic epithet, a stone, a bushel of stones,
a lifetime of stones, a hell of rubber bullets.
It makes no difference.
I’ll get you some numbers on that one,
the only mathematics I’ll believe in:
no one, in that state, knows what they’re rioting about.
No one. Zero. No one on either side
of the non-existent equation. No sum.
For most of us feeling = reality.
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