new ink made the world surge

sixty dead from trampling few

of them men


if I were

a member of the stampeding

party?  fireworks gone


bananas, the world churned

afterwards children crushed petals

what power is


this power — foot on ribcage can’t

look down sometimes in crowds

carried along


who kills like that or lives

anonymously when no charges



who puts

a clean shirt on the next

day over no marks


no place

on the body in the world



the bruised flower clothing

on the street all broken

stalks swept away


ashcan ashcan ashcan