Unrelenting, unrepenting dismay trickles through culture like tree sugar through a fungal network. My ego glows in the dark. Under the blacklight, sin splattered everywhere. I used to dance when I had feet. Now I float with the  other ghosts of dances past, my spirit sagging whenever the music stops. In the trees, revolution. From the women’s arms tangling children like branches, the infestation of revolutionary thought. The dayglo atrocities of banal government are a sign pointing to the cemetery. Here, the piñatas are people. Bust open a politician and watch the graft pour out, sugary and deadly. Democracy tends her Fire by the river and knows her true daughters by name.