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art by Irfan Haider Mirza ©
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losing what peoples my bones
‘all the voices
warring the stories
of myself in
no man’s land’
we are shells
wobbled lobbed humanity
entrenched in go,
want, covet and take
we are each a pattern
chaos as belief
a velvet bell
selling it
as the marvels
of mystery keeping
most of us kneed
hear the here and now
where you wear
what wears you
there to here
now and heard
artful and armed
the alarm is always
the hackles raised
the tingled skin
what wins
your heart is
a breathless home
a disembodied poem
we are a brachial reach
of maple leaves
we spend time wishing
we were more finger
than calendar gravity
we the whistled graveyard
prancing
taking
chancing
when choices
would turn the trick
corner brigaded wave
after wave
generations
of neighborhoods
remembering our names
always asking
if we still felt
if we still needed
if we always crawled
back to where
every memory
we had
of each other
did begin
mirror, mirror
how is love
a face or
or farthing
a race or
a darling nearer
nearer here
past where
we pieced together soul
with little eights
and slow knives
a white flag too
is raised
as the dawn knew
I braved
these wombs
EJR ©
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