Monday, September 30, 2013

Chevron


Don't speak to me of violence.

Violence brisks your step, 
schools your thoughts,
is the beverage you raise.

(Violence is the beverage you raise.)

Violence is your roof, 
root and ledge, steam,
tide, cream in belly.

(Violence is the cream in your belly.)

Violence is your river.
From its bed, gaze at Crux, Scorpius,
agog at shiver gleam.

(Violence is your river.)

You walk in violence,
indigenous skulls crackle
under filigree boot, dangerous calendar.

(Don't speak to me of violence.)

Your violence a-flutter in futures,
doled in windowless dungeon,
bleaching, investing a bone sown.

It glistens.

It glistens.

It grows...

(Violence is your tender, your tone.)

Don't speak.