Under the boot,
the knee,
the thumb
Redlines drawn
Blue lines hoisted
White lines drawn
In the shape of a man;
A Father
A Brother
A Son
Barrels are hot
In the cool small hours
Blades chop the night air
Thick with friction,
Turbulence,
Rarefaction
The pressure builds
and sleeplessness echoes through the alleyways
Yet the sun shines on
The hills like packaging for frozen vegetables
Or happy dairy products
The villains wear masks
The heroes wear masks
The bystanders wear masks
The fools look on, bald-faced
and clamoring for unmasking
There can be no Again,
because there never was
Only a dream
choked by a knee