A POLICE STATE
I am afraid to have violent thoughts about politicians. I worry that they will use my tax money to put wires in my head and read my thoughts. I don’t want to go back to jail. I liked it enough at the time but I am in love with my wife again and the thought of leaving her is a car wreck where I linger forever. A fragment of the steering wheel pierces my heart and love becomes a piece of tomorrow’s impossibility. I am a skid mark on a snowy Vermont road. Maple syrup spills on my head and I believe the nourishment will keep me alive. I am an idiot. I am afraid. I will not think any bad thoughts about Obama. Why bother? His malicious influence is bark on the tree that scrapes my face. I am bleeding. I am dying in a society that thinks so highly of itself that it doesn’t recognize when it is demeaning and killing its citizens. The highway to Mt. Snow is paved with skidding intentions.
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