Legalize the dark night
in which he grow up in,
the illuminated streets
in which we modeled our deep edges and rough cuts.

Decriminalize the chilling touch of winter
that makes our lips dry and blood red,
the icy spheres
that paints dabs of colours on our bodies.

Sanction the art of the sciences
where the only one paying is the consumer,
the cruelty of the art
where the media slices the eyes of the observers.

Legalize, decriminalize and sanction
all
that has made us many and
once at once.

My father could hear a fish diving into the depths,
or a bee lost in an odourless darkness
and every pump of blood
that kept us alive.

More spoke to him from the vacant-eyed creatures
than his own blood,
standing feet beneath him,
screaming but still silent for his loud disapproval.

My father lived with the sounds
of walls closing in on him,
blocking the barriers with the
thoughts of his children’s voices.

*After William Stafford's "Listening"

I find it really extremely irritating when I'm just trying to write and read poetry and I get messages from someone trying to scam me out of money. If anyone tells you that they need to tell you something important but they need you to email them, It's all lies. They're trying to get you to send money. Just ignore the message altogether. I've already gotten two of them.