i’m under all this weight
of air , miles of it
piled on top of me . i go
swimming in atmosphere
, keeping my fins invisible
. i’m a landfish , the bait
dangles in front of me
. i learn to keep my mouth
closed , breath through my nose
without getting hooked
. sometimes i’m minnows
sometimes the shark
The dead reach out across the desert,
burned like bricks by the enemy sun.
Beyond the corpses,
a litter of bottles emptied of life
makes a trail to the border with its gaudy signs.
Down the highway,
a panel truck hides its contraband behind a locked door.
Inside the odor of bodies warns the night sky
to open its arms to death’s bounty.
The desert stretches,
a merciless sea of boiled blood waiting for the coming sun.
Only the desperate
believe the lies of the coyote.
(Coyote tricked the Holy Ones out of their fire
and gave it to the People along with this scorched earth.)
Somewhere the names of workers are written
like beads between fingers.
Somewhere fields still and quiet
wait for dead hands to harvest poisoned fruit.
Published in the collection Poemas ante el Catafalco: Grief and Renewal (Chimbarazu Press: New York, New York 2014). Previously published…
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From the Associated Press:
Dolphins found shot, slashed, stabbed, and missing jaws.
Mutilations and other injuries recorded in recent months.
One found dead near Gaultier had a hole made by a 9 mm bullet.
Scientists who study marine mammals report four recent strandings
and on a recent Friday, another dolphin dead on Deer Island,
a piece of his jaw removed.
This just in:
Nietzsche was right about God,
and I am left alone in an incomprehensible world.
Sentient creatures who might have the answer I seek
die bleeding peace into a dirtied ocean,
its waters fouled with despair that cannot be scrubbed clean.
Children and journalists mutilated and killed by bombs,
blown into the meaningless abyss of a zero sum game.
They failed to learn the rules of play.
In other news:
People shot, slashed, stabbed—
an endless litany of horror born of greed for capital or…
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Another marvellous poem by Donna Snyder on ‘I am not a silent poet’
Awareness moves to the right
Electric asters line a green sky
Brake lights baffle the eyes
(Are you paying attention?)
Traffic moves to the right
Think of Louisiana—
Think of Japan—
Structures on stilts still
can’t out walk the waves
Fissured world shifts in its sleep
as sure as the earth beneath your feet
This may be the only world we know
Secrets and lies in camouflage
The stranger’s smile all teeth and eyes
Detainees in your back yard
herded like cattle into the corralón
Downtown old men still hide
numbers tattooed on wrists
or nopales inked on foreheads
Catastrophe is our only home now
Dying cougars shot more dead
Unknown bodies beneath the ground
Spying soldiers spread across the sky
A neon desert the only sea
Even metals gone to driest dust
Hear the sound of air through shell
Scent of water glosses the lips of…
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The racist cops and their victims.
. i stretch
for higher registers
, twisting cords
for gelded agreement
a deep beat
on dried skins , taut
. they’ve all
i play my variations
in minor keys
, chase a fleeing voice
in fugal splendour
& in the coda
he can’t breathe
i have the urban dictionary,
on line, and the standard
in the book case, thesaurus
in the cellar, where spiders
and cowebs abound.
typing goes wild if
i get hiccups, whilst
the flow depends on
i was born in england, south coast,
now live in wales. we speak a different
difference should make no
i am older now.