We would be miserable if we were happy.
When we’re not glowing like demons we’re dull.
Dull with no halos or self-centered spotlights
On us like sniper dots.
If it were easy and nothing could haunt us
And everyone fell into each other’s arms
And slept in the hay like celestial lovers,
That would be boring as hell.
If her eyelashes pierced me with soft insight
And I was much more than a pantomime crush
That gut-wrench and grinning would mean that I couldn’t
Channel this pain like a drug.
If our community breathed for compassion
The best rebel-songs would be whispers and thoughts.
No need for our rage or our visceral poets:
They’d wither with smiling bland eyes.