5 Micropoems From & To America
Grievances are to be,
mass-produced, shelved. Later triggered & detonated.
Out here, the blood clots
canon only, decree amputees illegal.
Fatten with decadence
until plate chips
Grassroots, the earth creaks
at foundation when the
awoke tendons threatened
by atrophy, Spirit moves
My Tongue Was
1.jagged edged scalpel, flesh
2. option to tonic, confused medicine man.
3. adolescent angst, all teenage turmoil.
4. Christ-side spear and crucifix,
5. made of cicadas and claymore mines. A loud earth.
6. callow, callous and aloe vera. Much curses and blessings,
7. claiming fleur-de-lis as brandished javelin. An angry pacifist.
My tongue is
1. Needle on 45 rpm, screaming,
“It wouldn’t be nothing
without a woman or a girl!”
2. attuned to the lilt
in Lailah Ali’s jab. How heritage can buck a trend.
3. – to the hilt, hemmed at handle. A holster hitched at the hymnal.
4. Limb to black sheep,
found foals in a heap
5.pooled at the celestial disk,
host trumpeting constellation
to the lamb.
6. Relic to rejuvenation,
relegated to resurrection;
akin to resuscitation.
7. Bunsen burner
in soundproof shelter;
domicile abundant in dilation.
What it means
to be a silent flame
in an elastic expanse.
A catalyst afar
23 by way of St. Louis Missouri,
previously published in Bellerive’s Sonder & the site Brooklyn Buttah.
A pacifist deciphering the mathematics of a war time society.
Bred from scribbles on the tabletops in your local schoolery.