Alright, we will talk about the

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤbodies, or the lack of bodies

the emptiness in the streets, the 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤunconcerned faces of

truck drivers, nurses, waitresses, 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe pale smirk of the man

who asks me if I approve of his 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤtwenty-foot flag, draped

over a building like a funeral shroud

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhis disappointment, my shared

disappointment, that we are disappearing

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthat the most important person

in the room is a ghost, the ghost of

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤprogress, and of hot fireworks

on summer nights, glistening white

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤbodies sucking ice pops

while a speaker screams in patriotic

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤecstasy, meanwhile, I make

plans on who will inherit my rotten

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmanuscripts, if a bottle should

crack my skull open, or I am kidnapped,

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤtortured, and tossed in the salt

marsh, picked apart by fish and crabs, 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤscientists say that soft tissue is the 

first thing to be devoured by crabs, 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤso, when they find me, I will

be missing my face, in a literal sense

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤbut today, my face

is already gone.

---

James Anear is a writer and poet based in Long Beach, California. His work deals with deconstructing American culture through a queer, disabled lens. He has previously been published in Stone of Madness Press and UCLA’s Westwind Magazine.
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Picture Credits: Musa Ali Chaudhry