6 November 2021
It was a day like
Any other, daybreak lip
Caldera’s fire lake
Self revising self
In syllables count them each
Punch drunk violin
The killing makes them
Tired, say the genocidaires
Cramp in his right wrist
Had no memory
Of carotid arteries
Only chicken necks
A knife to slice them
His eyes tunnels lacking light
Lava rock pincers
It’s indifference not hate
It’s wanting to stay at home
Not be refugee
Of conscience (Calais’
Liminal shelf by Channel)
Ethics is what moves
Fluid as gender
Precarious as homeless
Under Chicago’s
El, there he was, man
Wraithed by steam, what we see of
Trauma like aura
The world’s violet
Violent, fuchsia, my friend tells
Me is spelled other
Than I did, her face
Carved, swollen, now cancer free
Knives, two edged, free us
Leo mugs for zoom
His face resembles my dad’s
Gone 29 years
If we use it time
Ceases to exist as such
"Lake a lilac cube."
Note: Richard Rechtman, _Living in Death_; John Ashbery, "They Dream Only of America."
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