From the Book of Survival

To hold the gaze

When they came for the silence of our sacred
hiding weapons behind badges, the guards
by way of greeting, shouted Speed! planting flags
in the flesh of our flesh

When I passed, I saw where you had waited
beneath those windows, hunted bodies, and our light
along those points of fracture where it shattered
before cracks from our seeming solids in the dark
went –––where everywhere we look
there we are in pieces––

Palms behind us, trembling–––shadows across carpet
past our feet and the racket of the voices absorbing
those parties of projections, leaking to and from.

And after the cries stopped, we held our gaze.

***

Adapted from Flight Songs (2024, Finishing Line Press)

Every Grain

Our sands

With bone worn backs we huddle
in the shadow of empire, nursing
unborn stars, to beg the question:
how many dawns remain? Against
vain attempts to tame the hungers
of that constant, mechanical mouth,
its gaping hole the void in the centers
where we once met beneath another
sun, in another time, before time was
eaten too, to be excreted in legions
of micro units, meted out in
increments
of perceived
worth.

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