Here we are
Here we are as we love & complain,
orgasm & menstruate;
vomit & piss & waste our hate
on the smallest of things.
Here we are
with or without
mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters;
comrades or enemies;
consumers or revolutionaries**;
These distinctions mean nothing
say the insistent whispers that come to me
from distant places.
They taunt & they menace,
they make glorious promises:
you are all an
accident upon accidents
so improbable as to constitute a miracle,
here you’re alive
to the glorious light;
your life is not a cage
but a grain of sand in the hands
who understands nothing
So laugh until you burst.
*Idioteque – Radiohead
**Those Anarcho Punks Are Mysterious – Against Me!
Returned now to habitude & ugly
old attitudes resume.
Refrain from razor-blades against
but now place them instead between the teeth
so during sleep the mouth
fills with blood
forcing shame to keep
a silence unredeemed
by graceful movement or delicate features;
eyes that do not see the open,
of the pulsation, the differentiation
life from death, death from dying.
Until, once again, the morning comes when
a mother bends to brush against
& the animal rejoins the wild challenge
begin a new day, with
different hunters, different prey yet
always the same ancient struggle
the panic, the shit, the pain that afflicts
all living things.
Grace is acceptance, grace is
for the hunter to eat the prey must die,
& for each to drink
the gaze must sink down toward the water.
There, where the reflection resides.
There, where there is nowhere
In the beginning
there were two Lovers & one Mother.
The Lovers believed in her dreams & she
believed that memory hides like
shadows in light,
like death in life.
The Lovers soon decided that
they wanted pretty lies
equating beauty with simplicity,
demanded a story explaining everything.
So the Mother told them
that songbirds never remain in cages
without dreams of escaping;
that agape love
is a concept only a virgin could conceive of,
because rejection is integral
to all romance:
must be sacrificed to indifference
or love means nothing; fabric stretched too thin
always tears apart at the seams.
The Lovers rejected this:
they wanted comforting,
to believe in their selflessness
& inherent goodness.
So they ignored the Mother, searched
for a new teacher & found the Father.
The Father took the little songbirds &
plucked out all their feathers;
broke their necks
to make them
& refused to answer any questions