Poetry Is My Protest: Poem 12

Andy Warhol and Saint Augustine sipping julep in the Chelsea hotel.
 Talking theology of soup cans
And Roman empires
and why the worlds were built upon love and war.

We ran into Twyla Tharp and Anais Nin cackling over the southern violence of Flannery's charm.
Bukowski and Burroughs and Saint John of the Cross lamenting the danger of shotguns, apples and wine.
We hurried along our way so as not to be late and entered the theatre at a quarter past nine.

Dali and Disney and Christ in Brazil
Lincoln and Kennedy and Bonnie and Clyde
Heroes and villains
and
Capital Hill.

The Catacombs of Egypt
And the prayers of the saints
The cries that went silent
When killings had no hashtags.

Beneath this great crowd of witnesses
Beneath this great fume of dissent
Beneath city wide blackouts
And other news from the noise

We write our histories backwards
We grow from centuries past
Among angels and devils in bar room brawls
We raise our voice in petition
A tree of crows scatter the clouds.