TERROR IN THE STREETS|
Cynthia Atkins
The alienation of others This year camouflage is in. Every gas mask hides a face. Riots of antics, botched semantics. Roots beat in the ground with tainted blood. On cue, they died with their boots on. Roll up the town at 5 p.m., roll up the shantytown. Inside job—the interiors have no walls. Not in this life, the flag said to the flower. Tics picked off scalps like fleas on elephants. Hell on earth—the literal tropes the earth. Each grave used to be a parking lot. Salute the new crop of suicide-patriots. The news has a title and a theme song. Rain usually leads to rust or rumor. Elbows exposed, the nuns show skin. Enough blame to go around. Tanks moving on a wing and a prayer. Snow on steeple, phalanx of dead people. First appeared in Chelsea |