Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Six 2004 |
FUCK OAHU Shaun Hand The blue on maps mocks us. Leagues and meridians stand like barbed wire fences, like we should be robed in orange jumpsuits wet with rape, like ethnically soiled soldier bait in dirty work camps, we’re bigger than that, we’re stars on the walk they piss on, we’re Oppenheimer bursts in New Yorker poetry, we devastate, darling, and no matter how many Latitude lines and islands they throw between us, little do they know that even when together, we’re too far apart, wools and polyesters keep us separated, This won’t kill us, and even in our unmarked graves, we’ll be laughing. |
About Shaun Hand |