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How can we crack the vote? We can't - it's made
of blood. It's built of creaking spines and skulls,
surrounded by a hundred filthy gulls
grown fat and sleek from scraps piled in the shade.
No, we can't crack it, only grab its tail
and climb the gory bones straight to the neck
and cling on for dear life, we scrabbling specks,
Dirty his name? The dirt was always there,
just carried under nails of struggling girls,
in rucksacks, tossed in cupboards, hidden, curled
in elbows, tucked between their hats and hair.
The dirt was always there, beneath the shine,
between the lines we thought we understood,
in laurel leaves we garland round the good
Aside from my hands that
work 12 hours each day, the source
of my livelihood,
blood must be one of the most
valued part of my body.
I say this because
during the day
a large portion of it gets
"To have dominion was not to knock out, downpress, bruise, but to understand, to love, make at home." — Toni Cade Bambara, The Salt Eaters
I have a lot of things I think
I say. Now is the time to act.
Now is the time to act
by speaking. Now is the time
to speak by evicting the words
that have choked me. Now the words
The enemy masses at ballet practice -
In this new theatre of red Madonnas,
military poetry is seen dimly glimmering
through the exquisite hostility of war.
This poetry has erred towards
emblems of superficial pathos.
Who cares about who gets caught jumping
over someone else’s fence?
Mutts will bark.
Porch lights will sweep small critters
into another darkness.
Big deal.
Nothing will be stolen.
Nosotros quienes no somos patriotas
Nacimiento vaginal una razón por amar a madre
pero no fronteras jurídicas
Cantamos “La Bamba Rebelde”
We will cross, we will cross, we will cross
♫ when i break up with my boyfriend
what i need is my best friends
when i break up with my boyfriend
what i need is my best friends
girls and guys / exes and fly / babes of the future / celebrated witches / queer/androgynous no /
frontiers / love is / in / between
when i break up with my bf
and i’m driving thru the desert alone
from the street: a wounded howl,
fuck the police and it echoes from the prisons,
fuck the police
the anger which vibrates somewhere low
in their chests, weighted down
by one too many
unwarranted traffic stops
when the tail light
wasn’t out, and the time
they killed that person--
no, not Mike Brown, the other time. no,
1.
a bird built a nest
in my grandfather’s
up-turned welding goggles
the day after
he died
I never told
my grandmother
this, but
the dead
are dead
and the living
are dead
and
by August
the nest
was empty
I am not sure
Truly, she was nothing more than just a purse
But when lost, there was a problem
How to face the world without her
Especially
Because the streets remember us together
The shops know her more than me
Because she is the one who pays
She knows the smell of my sweat and she loves it
She knows the different buses
And has her own relationship with their drivers
She memorizes the ticket price
And always has the exact change
Once I bought a perfume she didn’t like
She spilled all of it and refused to let me use it
By the way
She also loves my family
And she always carried a picture
Of each one she loves