if there is anything left here
we’ll find it –
dig it out
of the rippling earth,
So we can mold it;
******* –
by the immense pressure
(of the bulldozer)
(of the needlepoint)
pointing
towards our future
(of the system)
caressing the victims
and swaddling the thief’s throat,
chest,
straight-jacketed to the depths of
near death
near the light
of the universe expansion
boiling in the brains
of us as human
and we as human
have worked this earth
to ruin
and died ourselves
from exhaustion
and held in the calm stirring
of waking up every morning—
satin sheets and
pampered hands,
where there’s gas in the car
but it’s not too far
from crumbling
like that bridge that
lost its footing
on a spontaneous
mid-afternoon
swooning,
falling for the
water
being
so….close….
….to flooding.
The dams don’t hold a chance
To the masses
of hands
beating back
I’LL DIE WITHOUT IT
DON’T TAKE AWAY MY MAC; I’ll cry
because they’ll die
without swallowing the
puffy blue air
and breathing the
red diamond
waters.
And the caves
could never whisper
to the drums of those
whose ears beat drums
through their headphones;
the leaves
cant drip on the
tongues
that are inside other peoples
mouths
and I wont allow sorrow
to seep in my bones
for all they’ve missed
because while they kissed
the soft bellies
of misfits
I rolled an underwater bull
on its back
so I wouldn’t drown—
if there is anything left here
I’m not sure the soft glitz
would catch the
cones of the greedy
souls diving
for pearls
i’m sure we’ve missed it
I am practicing writing and performing my poems so they are being constructed quite a bit differently, because I allow space for pauses and use the structure as a vocal guideline. If that makes any sense. It seems very metaphoric and choppy, but if spoken correctly I think it has potential for fluidity.