08. Fascists and Fire

Rest In Peace Alex Pretti and Renne Nicole Good

In the dilated frills of the fat-faced Turnstone’s eyes,

I see an Empire fall.

I do not talk much today, a man has died.

In the squalor of shit-sleeping, young-starving, inbred pigeons,
so high up on man’s balcony’s they seek
and claim superiority
over all living things,

a man has died.

The Turnstone winces, as if afraid to tell me what I already know.