Police Track My Movement, Task Employees, Customers: Bojangles In Cary Tonight, Police Already Deactivating Bojangles' Poem Of June 6th Poem by Dennis Ryan

Police Track My Movement, Task Employees, Customers: Bojangles In Cary Tonight, Police Already Deactivating Bojangles' Poem Of June 6th

Tuesday afternoon, June 11,2024 at 2: 35 p.m.

The Cary Police, other police agencies—as is
their practice—will try to use the following information
against me, already aware that I will meet a client
in this Bojangles tonight at the corner of Tryon Dr.
and Walnut Street. Police track my movement,
know precisely the time when I will arrive just
as they did last Thursday evening when they,
their police proxy deactivated my Bojangles'
poem of last Thursday afternoon June 6th
shortly after I left home to go to Bojangles,
me none the wiser, of course, going there,
the Cary Police having already sent a group
of Moroccans to the restaurant to bother me
in the order line, put their hands in my face,
position their bodies just so to bother, obstruct
my eyes, my vision, the police knowing I have
torn retinas—now repaired—thanks to the police
themselves, my retinas in both eyes torn during
Police operations, the first tear suffered in Durham,
North Carolina at the hands of the Durham Police,
when they burst into our Mews Apartments home,
breaking our front door in the process, no warrant
in hand, them manhandling me first—tearing my
retina—trying to get at our son Shawn Michael Ryan
when I stepped in the way—there being absolutely
no reason for their actions, they claiming Shawn
filed a false witness report when he witnessed
a traumatic attack outside our building that, in
all likelihood had been set up, prearranged by
the police themselves as they were terrorizing
Shawn almost daily, whether directly, the police
themselves or via police proxies, several young
men who came and went with Shawn, yet refused
to give my wife and me their names and home
addresses which got me to thinking—the same
things some Poem Hunter poets do, using fake
names to hide behind, not disclosing their locations
directly, having no biographies, or barely none
that tell other poets next to nothing, these 'poets',
the vast majority police-not-heaven-sent proxies,
not issuing from Elysium—just exactly why they
showed up at our Mews apartment in the first
place, these "boys" constantly causing trouble
and getting in trouble until I had them removed
from the premise by who else? The Durham
police, then so happy to oblige my action induced
by the police, their boy proxies—the police use
everyone, everybody, pedophiles, druggies alike
as I soon discovered and will double down on
such use once I apprise you, readers, others
of the fact, having done so repeatedly these
past 20+ years …

Dennis Ryan

Dennis Ryan

Wellsville, New York
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