Thursday, August 5

From Here, Where?

Explosions on the outside
fingers this edge
tracing
ever so gently
the line that rests between here
and
addications
wondering what's beating so hard against the wall
Iraq
Pakistan
Afghanistan
Palestine
Detroit
Santa Fe
Old growth grandmothers
standing tall
yet watching her kin fall
You
Me
Us
Them
all of it
leading into this precise moment of impermeable translation

somewhere along the path of migration
an institution of separation arose
and hail fell like never before
the size of fists
thrown up in the air
busting at the veins
the size of lightning
crumbling alongside thunder

and then this
silence falling on pressure treated wood
on adobe
on you
on me
on Us
on Them
all of this
all of this
all of this is real

or not

for whats behind the veil now shows as vividly
as cloudless light on stones on a stifling summer's day

the exploding sky is at it again 
taking note during dreams
noticing where we become more part of the whole
where the lines blur from us to them
bottles in 12 year old hands
lies mingling with truth at the bar
on the stoop
in the temple too
still
there goes that 17 year old
cradling needles in her arm
seeking release from God's army
seeking release from mandatory military truculency
from pain
the path
it all fades off into the setting sun
anyway

where do you become more mixed into truth?
what colors do you see there?
what becomes after the glow? the high?
and how is that more real than this? than real itself?

no anima
no sense
just dripping
drops dripping desperately on concrete
checking us all into a collateral checkmate

12
13
seventeen
again
somehow
it became seventeen
and seventeen became 2010

whose idea was this anyway??

losing my mind. Nah. 

anyway
back to reality
here's to alarm clocks
to holding down a job
hitting a bell
in the epicenter of this 21st century catastrophe
amongst the house raids and cluster bombs
false borders separating real people
the lower ninth ward's of Katrina
legal lynching
death row
rape crisis lines
voices
speaking again
pretending to listen
concrete jungles taking over wild spaces
taking over childrens' minds and running
like heroine
running
running
back to the grind
back to the grind
back to the grand illusion of ground
stability
and sound
euphoria
we're sleeping now
sleeping
still
we're sleeping

yet
even alongside this roadside bomb
this leeching dumpster of capitalist disgrace
rotting and spent
full of ultimate collusion and delusion
is the our chance to wake up
wake
up
from this dreamless dream
and see things as they really are

one last question...
what will we tell our seventh generation when they ask us
"what were you doing then?"