early march

wooden veins
and i am grateful
shaky hands
and i’ve seen mercy

when the sun comes in through my window
i give myself permission to hold
little resentments
they grow in the daylight
and i temper them with
bald palms

people say they want to write more political poems
like the letterss they use to construct their
words aren’t boiled out from bone
aren’t food to eat
don’t come from the day that sits around your neck
tightly wound and suffocating
but our feet are not neutral and
our words are not just dreams

one foot cuts through tepid water
and one foot strikes through green soft grass
both have carried me to open caskets
both have dropped me on dirty bathroom floors
they have seen me sweat and build muscle
rigid in movement
and soft in sleep

i want to write poems
that make art ashamed of its masters
that bring you and i face to face

that bend the blinds and leave us

in stunning sunlight

poems that obscure and illuminate
the things we don’t want to see
the things we are reluctant to show
the places shame can’t hide
in shadow

we are never going to win

our atomized poetry

wont burn buildings
and we can be honest about that
that there are still a few tiny ways
to truly see each other
and forgive the platitudes of places we are failures
revolutions are fairy tales
we use as blankets
to keep ourselves warm
and that is ok
but it is not enough

i will not be held hostage by myth
there is no outside
there is just us
we will tear down and rebuild
and get caught in the confusion of
strategy
dignity
and self-preservation

i want to know how to cut
the humiliation of living
out of my hair
maybe i don’t know what i’m looking for
other than pleasure
and how to gracefully hold discomfort
when i see a truth that makes me twinge
and that is ok
even if it is not enough

i am here for shaky hands
for uncomfortable silence
i am here for the place
our hearts palpitate in fear
but still move and oscillate

between determination and hopelessness
i am here for the pulse of
the contracted eye
i am here for the hand that still
pulls the chord
and lets the daylight in

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