It's time to occupy poetry,
out in the streets, under canvas;
words could be bread baked
and free broke and gnawed
at a raggedy feast.
It's time to liberate poetry
from obscure, self-serving
elites, so it can spill out into
street chants through the fuse
of the ordinary.
It's time to reclaim poetry
as common wealth sounded
in heart beat; life given over
to word dance and the rhythm
of marching feet.
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