Slam dunk the fuck out
of the moon through an Angel’s
halo as the crowd waves along
because that’s what we’re supposed
to do.

Drop a lustrous barrage
of bombs on the villains because
they also want to win.

From a trail of tears, to a revolution,
to a walk, step on mankind
with a shroom tip over the land
and castrate their sun
build a wall and deport in tumbril
and shoot hooded boys at the count of
shoot

Even the moon can’t
turn the tides of war—

to refugees turned away
while the homeless
sit
swept under alley cat rugs
while puerto rico snacks on napkins
and the moon can only
go, go, go
in circles
as an administration castrates
the sun for the sake of fuck’s sakes,
and watch as it moves with the never
ending ebb and flow
maybe a sordid boon
to keep us awake

-*

Mario Lopez (yes, really) recently moved to Denver for a 9-5, but he often flirts with the poetry muses, with an occasional booty call. He took way to long to graduate with a B.A. in creative writing and took a few classes at the graduate level. Currently obsessed with the musical, Hamilton and the album “Awaken, My Love!”