Disintegration Day

The burning arrow the bullet to the brain
the state of panic that arises with a name
it trails her like a seizure til it tears her body down
and the faces of her children are white pedals on a black bow

covered by the snow
til color's just a code
no one seems to know

behind the mirror her eyelids were ablaze
the empty chapels have been this way for days
the deacon walks the courtyard he lights his cigarette
the ashes in the snowfall sketch an image he can't forget

smoke risin' from the ground
when fire wore her down
from the cradle to the crown

then we were standing on the sun
slow motion disintegratin'
with ashes on our tongues and senses fadin'

we're fastened to the breath of sadness
waiting for the sigh
to heave us through the trees that bloom
in black and white
we're burning black and white.

Between the Blades

I remember Caledonia
the fields we set ablaze
winter’s cousin fall was coming
nights were swallowing days

hot air headed for the heartland
harvest was a waste
we made wishes for the dying
birches that would sway

when moonlight cast their shadows like a maze
earth’s patterns were alive between the blades

with snake skin burning
fog returning to my brother’s gaze
horses trembled, wind brought ashes
to the hangman’s place

an alligator scurried to the shade
still searching for its meals between the blades

oh dim is the light that, when magnified,
is bright enough to burn
small is the hand that can shape this land
and remake the world (who makes the world?)

the farmer put his brother in a grave
said there’s darkness on this earth
and here is how it turns
now his words will resonate between the blades.

The Loneliest Widow

Our Statue is weeping
her torch is a widow’s tower
where mothers are kneeling
to the man of the hour
political power

is ruling the city
where children have just learned her name
but Liberty’s fickle
she turns us away
when we call her name

her beacon burns true
over the ocean
our Liberty
forever so blue

O Communist captain
O man of Islam, leaving the war
she beckons you back in
through her golden door

give her your tired, your poor
yearning to breathe free;
their widows will weep
over the shore
we will weep over the shore.

River of Dust

White shadows and birds without wings
these are just two radiant things
concealed under the skeleton’s breast
volatile heart: the poet at rest

while snow falls on a mountain
the crows drink from a fountain
and roses are growing like rust
on the banks of the River of Dust

black adders and skulls capped with weeds
–holes through the bones – all that we need we get
with one final swing of the scythe
we whimper a prayer, drawing our breath

while snow falls on a mountain
the crows drink from a fountain
oh how the spider crab runs
on the banks of the River of Dust.