What masked pleasure fed this blockaded mouth?
“The nation’s economical bosom bleeds with childless milk
for the ruffian few who glare amuck into the wild spring of the beatific
northeastern kingdom,”
Our main will spills over these cursed tongues and thumb-drop
eyes
Keeling over an old mountainous ridge
Numbing the birth pain contraction
Towards a conscious blurring, along the highest sky
Our blinds thunder down a star-crossed joke
Scared and cold in the midnight binge
Inside grandma’s New
Bedford purse
Wailing in historic tomes about the whale’s danger &
blessing
To bruise the English pace in an overtaking sea
With the magic and force of our forested craftsmen
Dreaming up skyline distances
Across the phantom pages of a medieval Columbian map,
Before telescopic forays into sail-born winds
Taking criminal junebug druggists
With Maya princesses and proud bejeweled Indian mythologies
Playing in the apathetic theater of the misbelieved free
Our aristocratic exoticism
Bearing down on mountainous floods
To drown the ghastly past and its African boats
Full with the god-forsaken ash of a new America
Burning up with the Phoenix
of old Mexico
Atop the nerve of a blues guitar
Ringing along to the melancholic voice of our original body
on Earth
Torn like Christ in the Mosaic whispers of an earthen body transformed
Our human plague and its genocidal awareness
In the 21st century of medicated madness
When poverty turned to poetry in the music of her glory
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