by Daniel B. Summerhill Ricardo Gomez Angel I could hardly imagine all of this righteous rage going to waste, how our bodies are anti-combustible anyway. Hard to imagine us feeling remorse for fire that our skin has always been glazed in, a kind of clay we have claimed as skin. Or kin, a rage we’ve claimed as Kin. Hard to imagine any other way of shedding light on injustice but through brimstone. For heat and equality are both fundamental rights and right now I choose to fan