tripping over wires laid on the ground for us to trap our feet among small potholes filled with ugly little creatures that are often found to be cute we went downtown late for our nightcap of mischief and found them yelling at us for being ourselves instead of the people we wanted to be and they kicked us when we were down downtown they always mock people who wear skin they worked hard to show the world
how they sculpted in dark rooms with red lights and red lips wet with tears that ran down faces and into mouths which became salty and full of cry and oozed out soft words on pages from torn up notebooks left in the bottom of drawers and under beds where we slept and cried and loved and slept again and loved more i love your hands they’re so soft and beautiful and i want your touch on my lips and around my mouth and cheeks cradling my soliloquies keeping my words from you was wrong and i didn’t realize until i lost you
We Are Peterloo Now
when i vomited blue dust i saw weeping children alone in cages, crying for mother’s nipple. i vomited all over the room, little blue, little red, made brown. now divided by magnets which yell at us & show us images of those not in need but in greed, they were green like the lawn, mowed by gilded shears. i was always told the ground would be metallic red & bubble from the heat below the earth, like Peterloo when they were savages against us. we took to the streets & sang our songs of our America, & yours. but regimes never listen to our battle hymns, our rallying cries, our anthems of freedom, they only laugh & spit. so i continued to vomit out of disgust & hoped the chunks i spewed would sprout bulbs of bold flowers & grow fields of red, white, and blue, & black and brown, & all the colors of America under our golden mother sun.
Nick Soluri is an undergraduate at Union College in New York. His work has appeared in Occulum, Boston Accent, The Slag Review, Albany Poets, Heroin Chic Magazine, and others. He lives in North Carolina, and tweets @nerkcelery