Rwanda Blues Poem by Mark Pollins

My moody depression is an accumulation of bad sleep, rotten sleep, bark-shredded sleep, and reports from the ports of hell and the volcanoes of Rwanda – the latest “God was here, but left early” disaster summer-camp. If you are white and bleeding for the black cause, you can find plenty of fodder to keep your hungry conscience busy. Cover yourself up with a blanket, as you continue to watch a live broadcast, complete with natural colours and authentic sound. Even the dead-dying must be spread across your screen in immaculate transmission.