| Generation For weeks I have been eating stories like bread, tearing loaves with my hands devouring grief like crusts Tonight I am wrapped in silver and black hoping for music to sweat stories out of my stomach Movement lights my arms with circling rainbows, blesses me with the hip hop beat of cities I can never visit, words I only try to understand When my face is caught purple and red in a shadowed window you could see generations of sadness in my eyes � but you won�t Because black and silver dresses purple and red lights redeem me, paint me in new colors bring me to the dark light of a lost history that once found, I hold tight will not loose to stockings and sequined shoes or parade without hope | 1 2 3 4 5 6 home |
|
Decoration There are no words for the girl with blue hair under green fedora Her poetry acidic, her fingernails magenta There are no words for the girl-boy-I don�t know whose white undershirt shimmers over gliding muscles as heshe walks There are no words for the boy covered in lights from the ceiling and jewelry from wrist to elbow as if the rainbow ended in his lap There are no words for eyes whose rims are finally dry, eyes that stare and sparkle now lined Maybelline lilac, not bruised purple There are no words for Dancing, holding hands a nineteen fifties rock-and-roll Pop Culture dream of adolescence realized There are no words But there is enough hope in this room to write a new language Figurehead ������������� Edging toward the end of another salt crystal washed day I stand, a tired figurehead in worn boots and ripped jeans ������������� leaning into the dust spray ������������� of the crosswalk�s black and white sea A car turns, an angry seagull ������������� who calls barely heard obscenities, Drawing my gaze down from the brick and glass horizon �������������� that breaks over me like a wave of brittle stones leaving last winter�s sand in my mouth and the lamppost in my hand |