Tag Archives: Women

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My mothers son

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Sitting on the balcony of a mega complex;

Looking down at the houses still holding out.

I think my father missed prison.

I miss you with every shattered, lonely atom in my body.

How could you?

How could you break me into a shape you have no use for?

In the eye of an empire,

With traumas as vast and varied

As it’s violences;

I will my body to accept change as the only constant

I will myself not to become a martyr

to the despair and hedonia

that materializes out of the shadows and concrete of this place.

I will myself not to internalize the way the allostatic load splinters my elbows.

I will myself to believe people

When they tell me who they are

My father missed prison more than he loved my mother.

I will this new body not to be his son.

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in another life you were better

by

Rod Serling haunts me;

The way my father intended.






You leave copies of bell hooks out when we fight;





While your boyfriend calls me a pussy. 





In another life you were better;





In another life we were better.










I owe the people $128.





You owe some broken girl-child from the mountains everything.










You of all people were supposed to understand me.





You gave me every book about myself that you have never read 










I watch the tendrils of apathy and capital coil;





You could not hold the pain of a widow if she payed you 








		
	
			

	
	


				
					



	

		
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Titles of Liberty


				

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On loving glass women
Glass men
And glass gods

On welding your hands
To curved iron rods

On fruit made of sunlight
That burns when you eat
On wars that you fight
With shattered retreats

On grey trees
And grey neighbors
Grey houses
Grey time

On boundaries of smoke
And holograph lines

On the girl made of starstuff
And the boy forged in coal
On babies held hostage
On shards in your soul

On trauma that's bitter
And trauma that's sweet
On candy nails
And broken feet