Class War is Chemical War

Class War is Chemical War
No one can tell
No one can see
That thing in your hand
As you walk down the street
The one you’re unwrapping
It looks so banal
Like a small piece of gum
So, don’t worry — Martin
Robin, Jay are birds’ names
Right?
And how many birds’ll survive the night?
And hummingbird feathers
Could fly in your eye
And how would you know?
The Williamsburg Bridge
Is a rectangle — sure
It’s narrow — but
So is Central Park
Where the tunnel hogs play
In their warm, heavy coats
with their horns, all day
Doubled over in archways
As horses snatch grass
When given a chance
From curb cracks above
And acorn-fattened autumn squirrels
Squat among the elms
with those green-yellow balls
How they pull them apart
And devour the threads
As though scooping the brains
From a freshly cracked head…
We were searching for echoes
Found cat teeth instead
Which we set on a bench
And flicked away
Into the East River, later that day
Beneath an empurpling sky
As dolphins
the size of bananas
Swam by
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