I pop my fist up at the thought of “government”…
In wanting to sing a song,
I am having a song sung to me.
And it is a song that knows it’s bad,
Like the derelict given voice
In a cancerous era.
.
And now as a moth
Climbing along walls
All I ever wanted was progress,
And more of it,
So as the infinitesimal achievements of man
Emerge before me,
I will separate all 74 people in this crowded room
And not step on any heads,
Wondering, then,
If progress like math songs
Is truly equality,
Or just this bended knee.