border migration in this day and age

means war.


the displacement of the sun across your chest

across your home. the shadows of the moon

disappearing across the train tracks


the smallest footsteps stretched out across the waves of no papers


we are the condition the situation and the hiding inbetween

we are the solitude the wandering body the mangled parts

and the disappeared ones with too many names


awake in this googlefied world

it doesn’t take too much to find the latest border crossers

the fences and walls marked with the blood of deer

and other four legged trampled by the movement


somos la guerra adentro de estos pasos

desde donde vienen todos los pasos

y manos y momentos que nos van a cambiar


vote for donald trump

chicanos for trump

let the rancid cancer puss spew out of the viens

of turtle island so we can find the cures

chi 8


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