The police have come to a boil and are burning us.
Everything is a weapon because everything is a crime.
Even the graceful design of the bicycle, held aloft and pushed,
becomes a cop; This poem is defunding their violence and is instead turning to your care. It is a steady stream of cool water for the eyes that are burning with pepper spray. This poem is a tent or a shed or a box or whatever you have found to make yourself a home. This poem understands how our bodies need a place to rest from the world, to recover. This poem has its lights on for you
and has locked its doors so the policies and by-laws can't come in
unless they knock and are invited. This poem is on the streets with you
until Jaques Dubé considers a different approach and feels his talk soften into questions and concern. This poem bows to the warriors who stand for those who can't. And for those who can't, this poem will not rest until you feel safe.