promyshlenniki…

a flag's silhouettes of death...

my uncertain moves
are not because of my age
it’s that i’ve been prey
and have learned to be cautious
skin hunters take on strange forms

a dream we had…

a dream we had...

for a brief
moment in time
we believed
the
dream
could come true
that
our words
could save lives
and
change
the course
of history
but
after all these years
we are still
counting bodies
from
war
and
seeing
women
denied
the rights
to
their own bodies
love
one another
is still
really
just
the lyrics
of
a song
sang
by
a few folks
sipping martinis
at
the club house
a sentimental relic
of
college days
days
when
some of us
watched
our friends
being dragged off
by
the police
some
never
the same person
once returned
from
captivity
some souls
are
perishable
war
rape
and
police batons
can do that they say
just as bullets
can end
life
and when
the white sheets
are replaced
by
dark uniforms
of
blue
or
black
the murders
are
made justifiable
lynchings
without
ropes
nothing has changed
but once
we had
dreams

 

 

ancient bones speak…

ancient bones speak

i lie here
among
severed spines
from
lynchings
and
shattered skulls
from
clubs and shotgun blasts
so
i’ve grown tired
of
all the rhetoric
all
the promises
written
on
the wind
words
i’ve heard
over
and
over
and
over
again
words
that are
no more
than
sterile seeds
so
i’ve learned
there will be no
harvest
of
freedom
for
only the chaff
of hope
has been planted
into
the cracking clay
of
tomorrow
the husk
of
dreams
left there
along side
these
blood stained
bones
of
mine