and striped shirts.  No dresses
or skirts. Her mother cut her
chestnut hair all off till it
fell on floor in a pixie cut at the

age of four. Girls called her him. She was
short and slim, no curves. They only
had one, no more. Her parents split
up before she turned two. She didn't

wear ribbons or bows in pink. She wore
black and blue in a purple hue.  She did not
laugh and she didn't play. She stayed in her
room till Groundhog's Day. She didn't have a

shadow. She followed in her mother's
wake.  Every night she'd stuff her mouth
full of chocolate cake, curled up in a ball
under the covers. She wasn't invited to parties

and had no friends. She'd write on her hands
and arms with markers and pens. She didn't
bathe. So, the words stayed etched in her
skin. She learned how to walk on needles and pins.

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                           Let Us Celebrate No Tyrants Day


                           “We have no king but Caesar!”

               -A long-ago mob as written in St. John 19:15


Even the King of Kings is under the Law
And too, since Magna Carta, our earthly King -
From the people and their voices he can only draw
Such powers as their assemblies vote to bring

But may God protect us from a Common Man
Slithering to supremacy through serpentine speech
Emboldened by the power of cabal, club, and clan
Mobs chanting for their master, a soul-******* leech

God gives us His grace in a King and Queen
Republics give us the guillotine

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I already pulled at my hair.
“It’s normal” he says
I swear just to debate,
cause he doesn’t seem to care.

And I’m bleeding through
my scar tissued skin,
the layers only grew
still I find a way in.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I’ll be down to the last strand.
Check or fold the plays,
the cards aren’t that great
I’ll be down the my last hand.

And I’m bleeding through
my thick nice sweater.
It’s a shame as it’s new
and we’re reaching the cold weather.
It will stain the soft fabric
I may just grab the bleach,
but I always made it a habit
to always keep it just out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate
pretty soon I’ll be bald.
On hot coals she stays,
though she shifts her weight
and watches her soles scald.

And I’m bleeding through
my clogged and blocked pores,
and the remaining few
are becoming septic sores.
I’ll shed another layer
of a non-protective bubble,
and my hair will continue to get greyer,
I think I’m now in some trouble.

We talk about the
past like it's a
movie we
watched together.
You liked the
cinematography.
I didn't care for the
cruelty of the
protagonist.

We disagree on the
theme, and every
scene holds different
aspects of
symbolism for us.
I'm not sure I want
there to be a sequel,
despite the good
acting.

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                 Child Injured after Accidentally Shooting Himself

                                                       -headline

I’m sorry, Daddy
I didn’t mean to bleed all over the rug
I’m sorry, Daddy
It really hurts
I’m sorry, Daddy
I only wanted to play with your favorite toy
I’m sorry, Daddy
Why is everybody yelling?
I’m sorry, Daddy
I don’t feel good, Daddy…

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                But They’ll Be Kissing Someone Else’s Boots Next Year

I saw a cleaner landscape as I traveled today:
All the TRUMP flags have mysteriously gone away