WEBVTT

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OK, I'm going to start with
a poem called My Revolution.

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And it is about the things
that we need to tend even

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when they're difficult.

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My revolution eats arsenic,

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Chews lead grapes,

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Makes handprints in
cheap green paint,

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Makes spit bubbles,

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Pulls off her diaper,

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Negates.

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My revolution tells
me to stop singing,

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Start screaming,

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Calls for me and
kicks and bites.

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My revolution wakes in
the middle of the night,

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Cold in her piss,

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Twist tied by blankets we
offered in love, in resistance.

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My revolution would kill us
in the middle of the night.

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When she cannot legitimize.

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When she shreds
vocabulary, mythology.

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When she will not tolerate
our singing, my lullaby.

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My revolution does
not recognize me,

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Explores new syntax,

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Names her parts.

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Shames me because
of my shame of mine.

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Demands I name
everyone in the house.

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My revolution spits out cereal,

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Spits out arsenic,

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Implicates me with spit.

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My revolution refuses to believe
she will be cured by honey,

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or vinegar, or elderberry,

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Has no faith that we
can get off the grid.

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Has no currency but
hunger and need.

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And her eyes, oh, the eyes of
my revolution and their fuckery.

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My revolution burns
like a city under siege.

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Tears like a rocket through
the cold swirl of galaxy.

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Through the cold
calculation of capital.

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My revolution sets flame to
every prison caged inside of me.

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