Scorch-Blackened Thorns - Poem by Alice Parris
mashed beneath indifferent feet.
Fleeing scenes of barely-there,
Where were you when the
black-outs became normal?
Police line-ups, shock,
indignation and curt disavowals.
What was that thing
called personal freedom, anyhow?
still pass gases that can kill.
Toxic subliminals; then
the marching sounds of slaughter.
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