“There is no power greater than
a community discovering what it
cares about.” – Margaret Wheatley
City Of Angels where
Camouflaged kidnappers; Fascist wrecking-crews rip
Seamstress, roofer, warehouse worker, dishwasher families
Apart. Apart for private prison-profiteers. Apart for a flash-
Bang-buffoon-king of chaos and cruelty. Whose strongman
Handler has him by the short-hairs— Dancing for dollars
City Of Angels where
Folks know that masters of misdirection mix fantasy with
Fascism. Sprinkle spectacle in with torture. And laugh
In teargas and rubber bullets—All the way to the bank—
Stealing SNAP; Medicaid; Social Security; and veterans’
Benefits
City Of Angels ruled by devils
Reflecting fire and ICE.
City Of Angels where everyday
Angelenos strap on resistance
Wings— And fly in solidarity
Formations through fog
City Of Angels where
Everyday Angelenos strap on mutual aid
Wings— And fly warp speed
Through blitzkrieg. Through hurricanes
Of big lies.
Through whirlwinds of racist rubbish
City Of Angels where
“To protect and serve” translates into sonic boom slogans
Bouncing off buildings! Ricocheting as linked arms.
Morphing shoulder-to-shoulder. Out from unlikely alliances.
Into united fronts ten toes down! Into militant movements
Organizing and building. Mastering pressure, mastering choke-points
City Of Angels where
Everyday Angelenos know it’s no video game
On colorful screens. Know it’s soldiers on their streets
And Marines. Know “less lethal” is Pig Latin for Palestine—
On the down-low—Cookin’ slow … Know Gaza is Raza—
Writ large …
City Of Angels where
The streets are universities of class struggle
Attended by allies, accomplices, comrades.
The streets are universities of class struggle paved with smoking tear-
Gas canisters; bloody, rubber-coated, steel bullets. And goose-steppers
Coming for Mexicans in the morning— And back for Blacks by noon
City Of Angels where
Everyday Angelenos hate The Orange Age—
Its latest outrage of tilted table. Loaded dice.
Marked cards. Everyday Angelenos hate the
Capitalist decay—that must be swept Away
With 8.5-hour days of resistance!
© 2025. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet; BAR's Poet-in-Residence; and founder/co-leader of the jazz-poetry ensemble UpSurge!NYC. You can Vote for his work at GoFundMe and PayPal.
The formative years of the future Commander-in-Thief. “Hail, Comandante Idiota!”
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Brown body writhing in orange flames; scents of burning hair and flesh—so, how do you say Lynching in Spanish? Torched clinics were hollowed out shells without medicines and
