emptied of police full of her angry scream
rage so intense it wakes us into dream.
The rhythm of our chant has skipped a beat
halted our stride. Her wrath is the despair
of true love money broke, the fierce frontiers
tear love an open wound across the years.
To her gold, nations – trivial as air.
She's older far, more dangerous. She fights
beside us. Never dream she's on our side
nor cross her – those who do have always died
of love. If lucky, after dream-sweat nights.
But for this moment, on our barricade,
for her own reasons, love comes to our aid.