". . and I'm trying
to hold my stomach in."
There is poison in the words in the rack
Shame for me in my proud nation's path
Black ink outlining stark murder facts:
Invasion, evasion, lies, danger, more lies.
If I read the paper I'm gonna die
from the amputation of my pride of country
If those apartments turned up a television
I would sleep and never wake from morbid dreams,
what substitutes now for reality.
If I catch my toe in a crack
sprawl on the concrete and rock of the station
pull bleeding gravel from my palm
squeeze like a life-line a twisted ankle
I come back to my circumsance,
I come back to my pain
and the cloud of moments that surround it,
the testimony of things around me.
I note the cement sculpture
carrying hearts from Street San Antonio to Alma,
minds scurrying along from Town Atherton to Gilroy
I hear the singing of the rainbow
clinging like a kiss to the rush hour Bezier
above the soil where my feet fall.
The dirt still feeds this pepper tree.
The pepper tree still is a dancing green
The rhythm is the transient rain.
THE FIVE DAYS AFTER ELECTION 2004