January 12, 2013

Billie Holiday sang for all of us...

George Meadows, a victim of lynching, January 15, 1889 (Library of Congress)

we the people are lost elemental hunting parties eating strange fruit

in order to form
a more perfect union
of spiritual freedom
does our grace sleep
with the fishes
are we black faced
are we coal soot souls
are we vapor inhaled
are we documents
tucked with blood
into comas, bullets
and ink tearing
color from our skin

our cities and country-sides
are a constant burning
we distill quicker liquors
in flicker radiant reports
that say ignorance in crackles
has been spotted along
our short waved
turn dial technology
we are anticipating
the next violent episode
every citizen is writing personal
obituaries on someone’s back pages

we maintain false propriety
and clamor for anonymity
we give our bodies
to an all consuming hunger
we thirst for justice
we are what empties
into shell game resources
we blame everyone
but ourselves for what ails us
we are a torn tattered flag nation
waving cultural landscape conflagrations
we are deviant
we are devoid of purity
we are beyond emotional outlets
we are disciples of paper
and television scribes jacking off
to the sycophantic polling data
and revisionist histories

we mill about
place to place, hoping
for retainer fee containment
everyone wants to be wanted
without a post office picture
we are attached to this desire

we walk in
the nearest bar and grill
we pay the keepers
we dive down
we fantasize between sips
and peer the heavy stones
we wear around our necks
hoping we are
almost ready to leap and
the water is not so cold and
the wind ripening our mood swings tells us
the fires are lit, beyond barrel pricing and
the air has cleaved every divisive divinity

we sing to be
one above the rest
we give ourselves 
the best cases
of the blues
here, in America
death is violent charm
and what constitutes
the news


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