by Cadi Cliff
I dream in headlines
buried under my pillow
LED replay behind tired eyes
the stories we should be breaking
open
writing on every wall
billboard
street corner
graffiti-ground underpass
the space between bus stops.
They’re the stories that get pushed
into corners
by titles that sell
those empty rallying cries
those slaps on the back
that bury the dirt into dirt.
Where is the line?
In which we cross
over, fund a world
we protest against
but somehow keep buying copies of.
Featured image via Jaysanalysis.com
The Norwich Radical 