I perform the death drop at certain pro-life rallies.
They want to crown me king of killed fetuses.
They want to crown me in a crown of cut-outs.
They want to drive me in a wheelbarrow to the gates of the clinic.
They don’t understand: I am walking toward the palace of victim.
They line the road with the roadkills and the video machines.
I dance the panic dance with hammers and lamb.
I do the death drop in a riot.
Hello to all my friends in Queens!
My costumes are eating me alive.
This article is influenced by Joyelle McSweeney's writing on "The Necropastoral" (for example this) and Lucas de Lima's post about the "death drops."