Thursday, June 12, 2014

Easy Target

1. Words that arrest the pulmonary valve

I am a sucker, always
ready to be crushed.

Pull the cord 
of this robe at any 
time and I’ll be exposed,
the whole length of my
soulish ribbon so easily
unraveled with your
single reveal,
lie or not.

And it is okay.
The ones who love
just to love, they’re the 
ones put away in asylums 
to dream on the fumes, the 
entrails of these heart explosions
and their atomic wake; they’re the
ones drugged for the sake of 
generative factories that fuel
the world’s healing machine;
they’re kept in padded 
rooms that pretend to 
keep them from 
falling on their 
own swords.

But we, the unraveled,
the easily exposed, the
naked and around the world
in 80 days breakers of records—
we know the shimmer of hope
when we see it. Even when
nothing but a lightsail a
lifetime of stars away.

2.  What is real is what is unseen

this desert is a carved acacia organ unplayed, 
cloaked by a red curtain in a theater of damp walls and

an old white man still escaping jungle
theaters plays Blind Willie Johnson songs
off-beat, his voice naïve and

is a grid of tunnels that makes the whole
city sing unawares, notes like drops that make caves
one decade at a time, notes like bullets that ricochet from
angled wall to ceiling to wall, aiming with

And above,
a whole world of drying blankets and
kite magicians, ravens that map out in their ink eyes
every inch of the rooftops, the earth, and relay it in sung loops
of history, revelatory clouds rolling black coverings
off hills that were always there, growing in

3. Even when hunger drives you

You resist with your downshift,
you reverse right off the reservation.

You chase the fast without vengeance,
only learning to eat air, to drink wavering

molten light right as it passes through you, over
the curve of the world. Velocity saps your blood.

You throw your roots farther out, before
the gold in the frying pan can say when.