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  • Keith Banner

Carillon

it gets dark real

quick in november and

then all the buildings

with their floodlights


flickering

a door is open

that one warehouse and inside

is a flood of light and metal


this heaven

of motorcycles

like they are

singing in a chorus


rough and

stupid

hymns about

cold nights


and the stasis

of their motors

caught inside

the gleam


nothing is

right and everything is

okay

why


do we have to go through

this?

what is it about

that motherfucker?


qanon and

bumper-stickers

and that t-shirt

brigade


fat fucks

with

"fuck your feelings" t-shirts

and that glitter


of

pure hate

stimulated within

them


like

a wire

stuck into an

electric socket


i don't know

i hate everything

and everyone but

there's decency in that


somehow

these fucks

love him

and they give it all up to him


like

it's perfectly

fine like it is

biblical


motorcycles

are poetic

when they

are not


motorcycles



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