“Where in whose pleasing leisure does our stock grow and go
bolder in fields of blank duress from childless talent, filling space and
accentuating silent harmony in the ever-widening round?”
To believe in light, and the possibility to endure the ground’s
own failing trials
With Her round nature, orbiting in the mess of experience
Without prior knowledge, except when I believe in Her as my
own
Forsaking the street’s anonymous tumble and yet cleaning the
black-handed cloth
Freeing our enslaved bodies of white wisdom
Dimming to blue and darker shades of internal bleeding
Yet as the skin of our country’s opening skin brushes softly
with unlearned pain
Against a sky smoothed
Against a cloudless horizon
The eastern shoal lights
In the thunderous prison of ancestral blood
Separating from a songster’s realisy
In the intense unknown / within our belittled homeless youth
/ shrugging off unchallenged weight in gold / from our Mexican friends / who
stare afraid into an unwelcoming mist / to enshroud the religious / fixed on
gun-strapped, policed firemen / who from an ugly American hate save us from the
guilty lash / boiling in the powerless aftermath of our emotional Greco-Roman
rubble / cross-bred with medieval Asian and European plant and animal fibers /
dreaming up beauty in the complimentary fold / with airy locks peeled over the
dead / sick earth swells with an overwhelming decay of restraint from life / into
a confident foray with spirit’s unidentified heights or doorways into the New
World / cornered, lightless
No comments:
Post a Comment