By traci kato-kiriyama

forward the remote
press on, grip harder
desperate search for the time

come new commercial
come recurring role
we fiend for the best of us

for every fresh face
each residual
color finally abounds

stars in plain view of
plucky red carpet
folded into small luggage

then, remote controls
argues for the news
bullets, static, residue

come the latest crime
come a young man’s death
musty, wrinkled, feeble news

cloud cover eats stars
lint turns into ash
advent debates history

for every hoodie
each cry to be heard
we recall the sidewalk’s stroke

come thirty seconds
come wavering fame
come reality, blaring

8:00 in the evening,
laid there on gravel,
the pulse of society

T.V. is just not enough

for the light that has yet to come for Trayvon Martin. traci kato-kiriyama performs, writes, teaches, organizes, acts and acts up in various parts of the world.; Opinions expressed are not necessarily those of The Rafu Shimpo.

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