Paris sirens
Pewter sky
The white lace
Of a dogwood bough
At midnight
Reach up
Clutch and huff
Hungry before bed
For the sweetness
Of a rose
But a dogwood
Is a dogwood
And there’s no escaping
The sentence
For the world:
The old blacks
And the new poor
Must die
From the bugs
At the grocery store
Drones police the distance
Between
New Yorkers
Robots shout from spring sky:
Stay away
While sanctions
Strangle Caracas children
Bleed Persian women
And a million singers scream
To the people of the screen
A poet in Madrid
Sits under house arrest
Another in Algiers
Might as well
Be in Madrid
And what do I mean by
Paris sirens
Beyond the sad
Pin pon wail
That cries arretez
I mean a rhythmic wigwag
Just a bit more rounded
Now our own martial horn
But Greensboro, Nazareth,
Athens, Melbourne
It’s all the same sentence tonight:
No more fingertip touches
From the beached weaver
No more whispered breath
From the one making masks
For the world
Just this:
The unyielding petals
Of a midnight limb
As the strange siren hunts
For those with a touch
Of needing too much
Paris sirens/ pewter sky…This is masterful–just exquisite.
Awesome!