by Suzán Jiván, Mom
& Mom-Mom Suzán
Treasures that fell
twisted into swans
thwarted down
an amorphous hall
of law enforcement
as an out-of-proportion
cautionary voice
at the starting point
of a broadcast for historians
winning the battle of imagery
with muskets and pistols of officials
dwelling too long on one issue
of the possibly fictitious
that already exists
indistinguishable from zillions
flown out the window
subliminally
into cavernous drill
halls in increments
as rewards to listeners
with means of cynicism
within drifts hit with fits
of reminiscence...
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