the strangest places for a revolution, yet the earth turns

graffiti in stubble
virgin
sandy roads in FLA.
that make me
crave rum
or violent
pictorals
of pornography
in weeds near the
amtrak station in
providence

forgotten
newspapers
of the poor
always remind me of

the flag painted on the hillside
somewhere on I-81 between Harrisburg
& Scranton up in a mess of pines
someone always redoes it
(like each year a person who no one knows
or no one wants to know so
that no one knows
visits Poe's grave on his birthday
where and which, everyone knows,
and places
flowers)

radical like a car crash is to glass
a dark figure throws shutters to open

paints over the old flag
renews the flag
denial of an even if
it might be
that it fades
out of
shame.