Building Castles

Building Castles                                   December 12, 2017
Some breakings happen in a flash. One
instantaneous crash, smash and it
is over. A mound of bloody
wreckage for the salvage yard
.             or the grave yard.

Then there is erosion. Sand is made
of human hearts pulverized grain by grain
in human hands bedecked in diamonds
and gold and exquisite ointments.

What of sand? It can be reattached
in two ways. The pressure of one hundred
million years fusing the particles in
sedimentary rock or the melting of
volcanoes and kilns and lightening
making glass and black basalt.              Let those with noses
.             smell me.

If I am to be sand,                         let me be
sand in the shoes of men always reminding
toes that they walk on the souls of
mourning mothers.                      Let me be
sand in the bread of the opulent
that I man not go to waste.                         Let those with tongues
.             taste me.

.                                                         Let me be
sand in the eyes of the selfish so that they may
.             see me.

She writes because she hasn’t committed
suicide. I write because I am sand and
sand is too small to tie a noose around. Go
to the desert and listen. Each grain wails
have you seen my other self? Sand is a roar
in the wind.                                              Let those with ears,
.             hear me.

.                                                      Let me be sand
in the silk sheets of luxury so I may warm
frozen souls. Let me be sand in the hands
of the hangman.                                      Let those with hearts
.             feel me.

Posted in creative writing, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

aztec, new mexico

aztec, new mexico                                    December 7, 2017
i wish i had believed
that this can’t happen here
for then i could pretend
shock and unpreparedness
but here and here and here
is every where and anywhere
and violence only and always
begets more violence
here and here and here
because there and there and there
are really here and here and here
violence has no locality
but knows the geography
of power hungry hearts
in every specificity

the personal is always political
and the political always personal

i wait for my child
my living, blue-eyed child
i don’t tell her
our home-town news
is drenched
in children’s blood

Posted in creative writing, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


.reaping                         November 16, 2017
.the sheltering
.               arms
.of the empire
.               frozen iron
.and hot plutonium
. what a cursing
.                 to breathe
.         electricity
. birth certificate
.         passport
.                 registration plate
. my slave owning papers
. stamped
.                 Made in USA
. the sheltering arms
.                 of the homeland
.         barbed wires
.                 bullet-proof back-pack
.         in red, yellow, blue               $200
. my daughter
.                 born in blood                 January
. ice
. sheltered in place         the meat locker
.         classroom alphabet chart

Posted in creative writing, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment