Saturday Poem / Three Twitter poems

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Desolate gardens
of blood and limbs
ferment to sausage
on grass of limed-over liberties.
Some pay.
Others make money.

• • •

We are all naked.
Rice in a pressure cooker.
some of us obey
some of us explode
some of us refuse to blanch,
for we are not rice.

• • •

A jean of clouds fades blue
warsh clean a stain of sun.
Pearls of bleach hung swirling white
across an endless leg of night.
terrorism's a feint of reality;
a lottery you don't want to win.
It's no excuse to rob us of our last tax dime
or final civil liberty.


Chris Johnston is a Twitter poet, novelist and publisher living in Moon. Follow him on Twitter at @boinkaz or on his blogs or Fyi, some poems are sent in more than one tweet.


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