by Jim Ross
Revolution, a dream poem
The masseuse rotates bumps behind each ear
igniting electrodes loosening my grip on the body.
In the afterbirth of relaxation
I’m demagnetized, but there’s still the matter of bullies.
#
I hear my enemy climbing the stairs.
When he sees me, he scurries like a mouse.
The tower can be defended.
The dark side will not win.
#
But what of the gun?
A wheel at the crossroad is sectioned by silver spokes.
I seize the one that turns the key,
absorb its magic into me.
Trolls text warrants for my arrest.
#
I flee to a party and toothsome food in the country.
My lover says disappear south with me in the crotch of happy together.
I shake my head.
They’ll just load another gun.
#
I ride the subway with my laughing angels.
The train pulls into the city of guns and I freeze:
What if I make a mistake?
I abandon all lies.
I turn the key forever.
Mike Wilson’s work has appeared in magazines including Mud Season Review, The Petigru Review, Still: The Journal, The Coachella Review, and in Mike’s book, Arranging Deck Chairs on the Titanic, political poetry for a post-truth world. His awards include the League of Minnesota Poets Award, Maine Poets Society Award, and Chaffin/Kash Prize of the Kentucky State Poetry Society. He lives in Lexington, Kentucky. mikewilsonwriter.com mikewilsonauthor.bsky.social instagram.com/mikewilsonauthor facebook.com/mikewilsonauthor https://twitter.com/mikewilsonauth1
Jim Ross jumped into creative pursuits in 2015 after a rewarding research career. With graduate degree from Howard University, in ten years he’s published nonfiction, fiction, poetry, photography, hybrid, interviews, and plays in over 200 journals on five continents. Best-of-the-Net nominated in nonfiction and art, his photo publications include Barnstorm, Camas, Feral, Phoebe, and Stonecoast. Photo-essays include Burningword, Kestrel, Litro, New World Writing, Pilgrimage, Sweet, and Typehouse. Jim’s family splits time between city and mountains.