the framing that tamed the naming of fascism <*>><<*> (the trumping of a bump in the lumpen night)

and so,
fallowed in the narrows
and barrel heralded,

the ringed siding
runged from the right
progressively possessive

hallowed liberal lights

would have us believe,

loosed upon
the bravely staved
liberty plowing
"homeland"
of the disconsolate

banders of sand,

loomed in the lurid headlights
of the electively untuned,

that art in heaven,
praetorian Pentagon's
shock of ages
coronation usurping
bull in a china chopping block
dives of the rich and famous,
glommed aplomb
for pluming
the duking of the Klan,
bomb mothering,
presidentially perfumed,
compassion entombing
unprecedented beast

fascism

rears again its ugly head.

and yet,

(bearing in mind
the many ways
there doubtless are

of skinning the blindered,
Wee the mindered,
blithely abiding People)

what is so convincingly
being defined here,

shorn of its floodlighting
comparison garrisoned
lobotomy by dichotomy,
revile compiling
ism calling card,

is surely the very
selfsame thing

that all the most promising
practical politicians,
the very best cropping up
sopping up,
rusted us or thrusted bust
dusted crust of leaders

in the netting of vetting's
trendset abetting,
patriot bait ladening,
vesting of editors
and nesting screenwriters,

and the called in authoritied,
evidence free jamboree
of commentator sororitied

(and now a word from our
weaponized sponsors)

well spoken spokespersons,

thronging along
with that vintage singsonged
unfulfilled longing
by
the winningest heroes,
patriot preachers
and paid to yea slay sayers

in the seamless teaming
of unindicted war criminals
and broken toy generals
in armchairs and consoles,

seventeen proliferating
unaccountable agencies
of unconstitutional
coup plotters,
turbulence allotters and spies,

the rearing of fearing's
overriding
careening careering
boxes of cheered
steerings of fearleaders,

the bipopular demanders
of me too's fire on the pyre
exempt white feminist
richly peremptory
trials by headline,

and last not least
in the inevitable yeast,
the trust embedding
voicings over
anchors of gravitas -

(indeed,
all that passes
the constructed obstructed ken
of
the designer IVs

with their carefully maimed
opposing flavours
and currented savours,
coming up roses hoses,
and divisive spurting
divertings

emotively poking
those red and blue
manicured
separately herded receptors

in faining's planing
vanely reining,
intelligence obstaining,
infection of projection

mainstreaming of media,

and throwing in
the whole canned and reserved
preserves of domination
at whatever the cost
kit and kaboodle

from Sunday school teachers,
and super hero action flicks
to sporting's vicarious
paraded testosterone windups
and manned up mythical

toasty hoaxed folksy
fireside chats) -

'tis the very same
exclusively appropriated
we decide whose freedom
gets invaded
god's grace pervaded
purely raced force debased thing

all these crowning thy good
blindering Americans
unable to see the genocidal
monopolised policing greased
seizure of shining seas

they've been swimming in

have been uniformly presenting
as the world's sole exceptional

reeled wheels of exemplary freedom

for all these starless, midnight years

since they managed
to securely isolate
the contagiously
courageous,
complicated
and disorderly
myriad forest
of untamed vision

lurking in the spontaneous
free association
of communes,

illegals,
Zapatistas,
indigenous holy persons,
recalcitrant love children,
Latin American

liberation theologists,
non-hierarchical
collectives,
and all those
Nazi squashing socialists
murdered in Greece and Italy
as the greatest degeneration
tidied up its post goodly war
saving the world theatre,

amidst an
insistently misted
unnamed host
of ghosted, silenced,
and sidelined thinkers,
the Black Panthers,
Robert F. Kennedy,
Ho Chi Minh,
Gamal `Abdul-Nasser,
Patrice Lumumba,

Kwame Nkrumah,
Jean-Bertrand Aristide,
Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva,
Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar,
Eugene V. Debs,

Che Guevara,
Crazy Horse,
Malcolm X,
Jesus Christ,
the Buddha,
and
Martin Luther King.

*

and then,
after the long expected arrival
of the manifestly destined,

connection to humanity scoffing,
silken glove doffing,
independence offing,
plague ridden blankets
handed out coughing,

overdue karma
of Custer disappointed,
cash register anointed,
obsessively pointed to
culpability disjointed,

avidly groomed by
"reality's" producers
and the abdicated press
to capture all attention
from those lever pulling,
extinction fueling,

fealty to cruelty
inequality accruing,
psychopathic jewellers
tucking Americana's
paranoia first
slushed prophets of war
behind their velvet curtains,

the slithering con man
self possessed par excellence,

pride's genocide lionist
capitalist piranha prima donna
xenophobic Zionist messiah,

the keeps on spieling
make my day
what's in it for me shtick
carrying the biggest
bullying dick,

that complete and perfect
personification
of belief naif
in the state's own

(inked by George Washington
synced by Andrew Jackson
gushing since John Wayne)

racist placist propaganda

at long last
was able to bring

the tattered and bartered,
sapped battery
of railed empaling's
privilege tillaged,
memory hole trolled,
eavesdrop treaded,
faith based followers
and
consumptive presumptive
infotained accomplices
of
the Masters of War's
profiteering party
that nonsensically
calls itself Democratic

to finally notice fascism's
eloped from history
quarantinable existence,

and the apparition
of opposition's

regency of specious
militant apparency
pops up on schedule,

closing all the doors
and arching all the windows,
garotting teamless eyes
with a kine boothed dome,

lugging out Hitler
for the zillionth consecutive
iteration
of identification reassigning
playstation demonisation,

issuing pointed definitions

(to sharpen the traction
of elusive either oring's
protraction of distraction),

increasing the warnings
from yellow to orange,

to head us nasty Russian bots
and Iranian bedwetting stooges
off at the treasonous pass

(because who the hell else
could possibly be on the left
of the self appointed good guys
whose fingerprints are on
the throats of starving children
and whose divinely mined
intervening protection
requires eight hundred
military bases
in other peoples' spaces?)

to tell us with their
trademarked
shrugged rug tugging,
purse string strung
diversitied slight of face
for the umpteenth time

we can vote against it

simply by voting for it.

*

'well, ain't that a relief?'

sighed Ahmed,

(a fragile brown eyed memory

of unrecognisable untethered skin
on that flattened little hill
left over from the second
surprise drone attack
to obliterate a cousin's wedding
and harvest all his sheep,

a year from Thursday last,

that nobody who's anybody
will ever talk about.)

*

- Evan Hawthorn, the 25^th of October, 2020