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Fievel Crane Posts

POEM: On The Day Assata Died

On The Day Assata Died

On the day Assata died
a mass murderer spoke
to an empty room
about why it’s OK to kill people.
He was wearing a two-dollar button
with a link to a video
that he said would show everyone
why he needed to keep killing
men and women and children and
non-binary folks in the name of justice.
There was nobody left in the room
to look at his video
but don’t get it twisted;
they had filled that same chamber
many times before and done nothing
to stop the killing
because in the end
that’s not what they’re there for.
They sit in that room
day after day
year after year
to make us believe there are rules,
to cover the hellmouth with politeness.
But Assata died one thousand three hundred miles
from her home place
because in the end
they always let the killer speak.

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26 September 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Unanswered Questions

Unanswered Questions

So many of my elders died
before I knew who I was.
Is that a loss or a blessing?
Could I have explained to Grandma
(who never liked my triangle pendant)
that I was no longer her grand-son
but instead her grand-something-else?
Would the Franciscan friar
who christened me “Jaybird”
have thought, to himself or aloud,
that a queer mouse must burn?

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20 September 2025
Charlottesville VA

for I.F. Gonzales

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POEM: 8 Minutes Ago

8 Minutes Ago

eight minutes ago
the sun was still shining
that’s all I can tell you

if it were suddenly to die
we’d all go blissfully on
long enough to play

“You Learn” by Alanis Morissette
twice
which is ironic

92 million miles
at 186,000 miles a second
you can check my math

Alanis would be singing
“you live, you learn” one last time
then click – lights out

seven days later
we’d all be freezing
in a year it would be -100°F

under their frozen surfaces
the oceans would stay liquid
for hundreds of thousands of years

most plants would die
in a few weeks
some tress could make it decades

the $64,000 question,
to quote Pink:
“what about us?”

we could live in submarines
in the very deep oceans
which doesn’t sound great

the better choice:
geothermal or volcanic heat
could keep us going for years

prepare yourself now, is my advice
take a page from Blofeld’s book
get yourself a volcano lair

you don’t want to be
the only person without one
when Alanis stops singing

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18 September 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: the rainbow I want to see

the rainbow I want to see

forms in a puddle of gasoline
pooling below a row of Molotov cocktails
a riot not a parade

they’re not coming for us
they’re already here
that warmth you feel

is the breath of the enemy
uniformed like a dark patch of night
light glinting off a truncheon

grab a brick, break a bottle
sharpen your knives and axes
this is the hour when we fight

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6 September 2025
Charlottesville

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20 years since Katrina

Katrina was not a natural disaster. It was a man-made failure of engineering and resources made even worse by a racist disregard for the lives of black people.

Speaking personally, it was also the moment in my own radicalization when the final piece of the veil was ripped away and I realized that no part of the official apparatus of our society was here for any reason other than service to capital.

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POEM: The Singer & The Hunter

The Singer & The Hunter

cricket in the window well
sings to Orion in the sky
in a language that means “find me”
but the hunter doesn’t answer
and my partner shuts the window

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27 August 2025
Charlottesville, VA

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