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Commentary :: DNC
BOSTON - a poem, a tribute to those who took to the streets of Boston over a year ago
06 Aug 2005
It was a little over a year ago that I went to confront the DNC with the Bl(a)ck Tea Society and others in Boston. This poem is for those who took to the streets. Let it be said that, yes, you did have an impact... the person I was before the DNC no longer exists... he is now a madman, a radical, a revolutionary.
I know poems are not really placed on Indymedia; nonetheless, here it is. If you want the actual, more affective, format, email me.


Boston, your washed up streets and bubbling sewers call out
your name at night veteran splintered aqua chipped paint
tugboats moan at rising dawn on journey to garbage
islands in ozoned harbors whales need not moan anymore

Revolutionary fields and building tops beckon the past rusting
water towers dripping air conditioners groan hum whistle
Senegalese cab driver turning up Ali Farka Toure radio
call to prayer 5 times daily, orthodox Jews simultaneously
reciting kiddish kaddish

Boston T, flatten pennies on tracks satisfy tourists with your
tireless anarcho-comunitarian blend parading the streets
while imperialist friendly fascist Kerry salutes placard Idaho,
Florida, Arkansas all there supporting Bush-mirror-image
crackling grin white teeth

Black messiah mahdi hustler pimp Detroit Red son of modern man
Malcolm X – CIA did not like, slave master grandson cringed
from your Harlem enter here Roxbury built Mosque #11
made John Adams seem like prick racist British gentleman

Boston waste your life vein cut smoke smog urinate on consecrated
black messiah’s Roxbury here build no supermarket library hallal
no swine animal, yes swine human dregs of Dante’s inferno
cabinet office pentagon book shelves military crank lab here

Yelling “police state!” eyelids burn off when dare to deny truth
M-16’d soldiers manning overpass, true revolutionaries photgraph’d
by armored rightists dread lock’d sage’d tattoo children – when pig fists introduced blood to angelic child faces tears pulled out of eyes

Boston College protect the fatherland steel cuffs wrap ‘round
brown hands of Sikh student with polaroid – questions Feds ask,
lies will tell, yes too dark skin too long beard turban not welcome
obsession with numbers, indeed business as usual in Bean Town

Polemicist Trotskyites listen with ears flying in ecstasy to Mr. Zinn
Anarchists go to drone manufacturing plant MIT and hear
Mr. Chomsky speak hegemony imperialist fantasies
capitalist erections Jew he is, Israel and money he hates

Boston misrepresentation taxation no drugs no fun politico-mart superstore
city hall spew forth misgivings belch oppressive stock-market frenzy
bile onto streets but never drown out street musician who plays 2
trumpets same time, destitute Viet Nam vet – black – all glowing spirit

Queer folk of Jamaica Plain shed blood intellect over legalized
marriage cheer on anti-queer Kerry and fanciful parades colorful too
why not set down martini, pick up molotov and overthrow despotic family-
values government family too become true toilers queer 1917 Russia did

Boston moonlit sunbit cowrie-shelled lobster-trapped generation
shovel the snow of worries away from black and brown children
place school tuition on hook as bait reel them in send from Babylon real to
Babylon historical wipe desert window clean of blood

Ocean of radio waves mindless mind gallery of television imagery
smirking book-keeper deceitful books from cages
descend on population aim for the minds of the brain cradles
like tigers do when your back is turned in the forested slums of Borneo

Boston parks (the lone spirits of the city blocks) greening all the gray, you were
pushed over the edge of unlimited intimacy into the dumpster of capitalism
immigrant children lick the heels of the garbage bins shoe string tied tin cans
knowing all too well that underneath every squinting bottle lies a tulip bulb waiting to
fertilize the earth

Life blood of water front store front basement boulevard park bench
soul and spine of all that is good all that is beating your blood speaks
the colors and ambitions of future insurrections joyous rebellion today you
sleepwalk soup kitchen lines prison cells judges’ chambers tomorrow you will speak the
ultimate truths of the egalitarian tunes

Boston Commons hold up the dreams of the atlantic shore children who once
came from Budapest as slavs, Luanda as slaves, Ireland as rebels, Colombia as
dreamers breath into them the manifestations of those same patriots who filled the streets in 76 with mind feeling, hand thinking thoughts breath into them the rifles needed to finish the revolution

Steps of the library yield not to the circus of uncle tommers and barak obamers who roll steaming fecied fantasies off their tongues and across the blue abyss into the melancholy ears of persian misfits remember what your great white fathers did in tehran remember the fertile crescent’d streets flowing with green dreams of liberation don’t forget the reciprocity of Imam Ali’s sons and daughters bombs will not deter their sparkling eyes

Boston alleyways leading to infinite desires and fogged imaginations of
love, stay dark awhile longer just to make sure that the infantile libertarian syndicalists
stir up their wheat paste and post their love for humanity and for each other on the
red bricked peeling walls of momentary sanity

Reincarnate rebels rogues unslaved-slaves exiled emancipators peoples’ liberators Carribean musicians speak into the air the historical lessons, musical interpretations
of transcendentalist ambitions, upstream swimming, ancestor deviants and throwing tea into the Charles River grasp the reigns, box up oppression and throw that into the rapids

Boston flickering electrical lights at dusking dawn, counterclockwise clocks of spectacular spectacles, business suited sheep armed to the venomous teeth, marble column mobile solemn façade of suggestive halfed happiness cannot be found in the cobwebbed
steeples bottle caps plastic wraps candied mass delusions of mathematic
numberness in velcro’d cubicles past the madmen of today dressed in colours black red
will use the present as their paint brushes to muralize an epic future

Insurgente fruits of poetic Zapatista flights, anarchy’s Cossacks, Kronstadt rebels, communards, volta-congo-bissau bards of delight, Fallujahn incantationists, red army factioners, intifada homelanders, tree spikers, bolivian water petrol warriors, 1930s Spanish actualities, situationists, contemplationists, patriots of fabled delight I can feel the pulse of the
drumming of your hearts, the vindications of your agitations, communiqués of emancipation in the moon tapping street rapping vibrationistas of Boston’s young so sweet

Boston – you are city of countless cities unbeknownst blood dripping from your cross slave to today’s babylonia Romanesque sovietesque Empire that is not so easily felt, not so easily seen it is none other than your leaderless tea party insurgents proles toilers who grasp the hammers of thought and desire that will pull out the tormenting rusted nails and numbing illusionary bolts of capitalism from your body yearning to drink heavily from the cup of emancipation – past be damned, bolts and nails fall to the ground revolution is not anticipated it has already been activated it is already here Boston taste it in your streets!
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