Before the door to the sun
lies the street of the virgin of dangerous things
cluttered amongst an obstacle of particularities and
temporal limitations that only planning and
less superficial presence could overcome
The pirates of our present day have begun collecting tongues that
speak of air and all things generative
A body too delicate to touch nesting within
the ashes from the phoenix of our last, temporary resting place,
where autonomy is snatched and coddled for
it’s preciousness and hidden monstrosity
A purple haze settles under my feet with
it’s sheen of chemical interdependence
I blow softly as if into a child’s ear…
temptation as a symbolic exchange
for all to see but few to understand
Folds in a space/time continuum where
quantum computing can represent
thousands of women gathered to build a temporary kitchen
for presence and protest upon the steps of a courthouse
they understand the force of a listening
expanding out to encompass an entire community
Pausing only to swallow the stars
she turns to hear her voice has changed
no longer a child of her age but a woman
gently wicked and unearthly pale
A savage beauty whose visitations give rise
to what would have once placed her
in certain confinement to contain her
chaos embodied
Under the asphalt lies a garden of the avant-garde
with flowers for the anti-optic
we step to a stillness that only noise and
speed without examination makes possible
opening drawers buried deep
to find a multitude of tiny, tin arms and legs
made to carry away a critical mass
Milagros crusted in the walls, embedded in the curtains,
armies of milagros to march upon the bricks
building the engaged withdrawal of an invincible summer
that same summer melts into an arctic past
in the haunting radio waves of low frequency.