A More Perfect Union

A forceful wind carries Jeremiah’s voice up to the rafters. Form some simple words and make a prophecy. Perfect? Of course, the answer time. And yet words the reality of their time. Tasked to run story. that in no other country on earth is story even possible. Blah, blah. It’s a story. One. Despite temptation to still. This is not to say that. At various stages some commentators. The press as well. On one end of the spectrum, I’ve heard alike. In unequivocal terms, and in some cases, pain. Of course. Remarks that could be considered Yes. Views? Absolutely. But weren’t simply. They weren’t simply. Instead, they expressed. As such, charged problems neither professed values nor ideals. Why associate snippets same way. But the truth is a man like me.

A man like me reaching out. up to the rafters. And in that single note— dry bones. These stories story. The blood rebuild. Like other predominantly experience in North America. This helps explain, perhaps. No more disown cringe. People like me are. Now, no longer look to crank or demagogue, no big leader eloquence in aftermath. Race isn’t just America: to simplify— American. Understanding—recite. Legalized lack. After them.          Who scratched and clawed. In public, in front of white morning.    That—that that exists between the races. In fact, anxious global      over time. Resentments aren’t always polite shape landscape       bogus attention from the real right now. And contrary to the        claims of union. Path burdens always turn the cheek. Yet path       hope prosper. Believe in destiny and, yes, tomorrow. In the end,    then, what is called well….choice in this moment, or change.         That is Time. Not this time we want. This time we want. Something. Your story is one in millions too. Anyway, that doesn’t say, by itself, what will be or that time prepared you. 

– from A MORE PERFECT UNION: A SERIAL POEM (forthcoming)

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