Monday, June 29, 2020

American Flag

No one remembered the definitive moment that the baby’s screams stopped clawing the afternoon heat with rips of anxiety

They just became aware of the silence which struck to the gut with its sickening reason

The father’s hand fell away from clutching her dress
Family blood running familiar
clotting in the sidewalk
Her small body hit his as they both went down

down

with no opposite ever to occur again

The police chief wiped his brow, thinking of the paperwork
Lucky they were Hispanic; less money to buy trouble for him
but the baby getting shot was still going to take some explanation

The mother was being sick on the molten tarmac
smell of trauma and city mixed
Hitting her head with empty hands
forever empty hands
feeling the rip in her womb
The sound of that internal scream was rising, forcing its high fury and pain out through every pore
On all fours
swaying incoherent hurling incantations to curse her husband for using their baby as a shield

The marksmen exited to waiting vehicles
with debriefings to get the official line
they did not even exchange a look

but one looked at her

and felt repulsion for this outpouring
out there in full view bare and raw

He wanted to fuck her
Fuck her on the road, ram her ass and throw her down so her head split blood red gash

Then she turned and caught his eye
knew what this white policia was thinking
Seen that look before, felt those grabbing hands
heard the insults, been hit by spit

She caught his eye, hurled her ancestry
and the power of the grandmothers flew to avenge

First they ate those dead eyes
Then they pulled out that dead heart
and cackling, reduced him to slivers of flesh

the American flag to hoist high

Friday, June 26, 2020

The Chicken

Press Play

Wound tight by the blue screen
where once they called you Blue Sky
and you danced in fields with no money or home but a ride in a converted bus
in Wales or Greece or Holland or Australia

The modern-day cyber shroud pulls
a preventive to vertigo
You're always falling
and you say don't let me off at the next stop I need to keep going

But where is there to go now

What kind of times are these
perhaps the time to go on your knees
set the record button
ensure your heroes are on repeat



Monday, February 24, 2020

Moment

Something came out of the night
                       reaching
I nearly touched its outstretched wings
                                                            so wide
from the coast of my father's father to the place I am standing

a helix of memory surged into my open palm
and I licked it with a hungry tongue
because I have waited a long time, such a long time

to belong

Saturday, February 8, 2020

Green Shoes

Years before I knew you I was walking down Rue de Rivoli and I saw
those green and silver snake print trainers
and I had to
have them

And years later, still before I knew you, I had to let them go
because I went to another place and drank in a bar called Freedom and my bag was already filled with other things

And now I am thinking of them
and thinking of you at the same time
and thinking about what time is and decisions of memory

and a continuum of missing something or someone
different names and forms

a mutable loss

which now I will to change to presence

and this beautiful day brought me here to understanding the astrologers' words
when they talk of Chiron in Aries and how to take it IN, they say 'in' like that with accentuation
and I see the power of time and being that is living inside myself and I laugh that I was mourning the sudden limitation to my newly stepped identity because
Yes

Thursday, December 12, 2019

Animation Button

The astrologers say there may be shocks at this time. Today I thought: What if my father comes back from the dead?
Then I gorged on ice-cream and chocolate and thought: How do I leap again?


And I look at a photo of an old love and see a prayer mark on his forehead
He's talking about the i-ching and his place in this world


And don't think I'm singling anyone out
No, the faces are all one
but I turned mine away
from all their languages and all their pretence and all their wanting things to be this way or that and all their complications


Those stories, I don't even want them as fiction
I have changed all my mirrors and now only look at videos of myself because I want a moving image


Yes. You. And you. And you. If you're reading. You were a hero suicide.



Tuesday, October 29, 2019

End. Exhibit 1

In the hands of God
in the pink pulse of a Whatsapp msg
of a tiring heart

either I am not a good judge of character
or you were a great actor
or some shit happened that I don't know how to track it

then an ending like all endings
unhappy and strange

the future divided
and we speak different languages now, uncommunicated
and wrapped in stone