Note: Michael Connell was the Bush Administration IT expert who oversaw the so-called black box electoral fraud that facilitated the election and re-election of George W. Bush, as well as the hard-drive destruction of emails that would have exposed multiple criminal acts to Federal investigators. Connell denied any involvement when he testified to a Federal judge on November 3rd. After numerous, ignored calls for Federal protection, he died in a mysterious plane crash from a secure Federal airport. There was no report of any of this in the New York Times.
There are moments when the door, ajar, appears to allow
Some light, and the mind expands with hope that there is
Such a thing as God and truth and fairness.
But in that movement, what is goes further away
And what appears wears a brand-new facade,
With no breadcrumbs to God, only the dark
New York Times, painting miseries in vivid black and white,
So that we suffer too and feel ashamed, and understand
Our privilege is the root of the problem, for we see
So much further than “they”.
But “they” at least know there's a force that does all this,
That machines have a God too. They at least ask who works for whom,
Not presuming themselves free, even in their minds
That cannot decide between the lie they live for
And the one that keeps them in chains.
One day I will wake up with love for all,
One day the pen ink will flow, but for now
I ask myself why such wrongs must right,
Why we can't know each others' private choices,
Why we look anywhere for a clean explanation
To make the future more bright, or the past
More certain, when all it takes is
The knowing in the moment
That I know no less than anyone
And no more than what I feel when in
The center of a circle.
