We’ve spent nearly a year
creating faces
perhaps its easier
when there are no lips to deceive
we’ve created beautiful ideas
of things with half meanings
We’ve spent nearly a year
creating faces
perhaps its easier
when there are no lips to deceive
we’ve created beautiful ideas
of things with half meanings
There is something
we don’t like to talk about
perhaps we already know
even if we let the monster out
change will remain the same
It’s been this way a while now
I scream—
—you shout
‘til there’s nothing left but silence…
hurt feelin’
we’re bruised and wounded
each other trying to out trump the other
reneging—inventing and preventing truth
patience raised into violence
because we’re broken
this is how we mend ourselves—kintsugi
but we gonna remember what we remember
and you will fight to shift the blame
‘til all that’s left is smoke and embers
‘less some hot breather stokes the flames
leaving us choked and blinded
gasping to breathe—dying to see
We’ve seen it every time
and pay it no mind
this red and blue sea
filled with blood and tears
hatred and love
between you and me
holding hands like lovers—your hand in mine
too afraid of letting the other go
walking down the same road
just with opposite dreams—
we mended pottery.
Kneeling
Ain’t
Kneeing
Arrival—inhale!
Wind laden with love and pain
Exhale—departed!
Breathing should be an inalienable right to all; it—breath—should not be pleaded for, nor withheld as a means to demonstrate power over another.
Soul, a screaming pond.
Struggling for a way out,
—How am I not George
Everyday I wake up with a tinge of fear that it may be my last simply because my skin remembers the long history of insensibility—it, my skin, has been an excusable causality for unjustified violence…
love does not weaken, confuse, misconstrue; but in our desires we blind ourselves to these truths.
TSH
eyes-wide-shut—pensive
gripped by the emptiness
of a glass half full
been away searching
speaking to shadows born
of light with no eyes
Beneath raging seas
Beneath trees in the wind dance
Is a calm body
I taught her to give birth
and her me to be a man—
enough to love her
//
mothers give birth to men
who will give them love or grief…
la stanza di Agos
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