dear humanity,
can we overcome
paralysis in the face of cruelty?
consumption in the face of degradation?
extreme loneliness in the face of facebook?
it is us and only us.
we are the ones who must begin
reconnecting with the mother of us all,
gazing further than we ever imagined space for,
breathing in the great infinity of the wild,
the impending expiration of our lives.
touch the sacred
and see if your soul
wants to turn back.
wants to try to digitize a mountain,
upload a desert,
tag god
for all your friends to see.
humanity, can we remember
how it felt to come crying from our mothers bodies?
twig-sized fingers
reaching up toward a blanketing sky?
caring hands bathing bodies
like rocks in a stream--
deep and calm
motion by motion.
is rebirth in the vocabulary
of a people
whose mother
eludes us?
is renaissance
an image
we can google
and have painted for us?
through the funny feeling
that something just ain't right
where is the box
for our limited-word
response?
for our last shot at
brilliance?
for our data to add to the pool
where everyone's floating
but there's no room to swim?
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
i'm tryina see it
for what it is--
that 7 minute dance
from the metro to my house
when every person passing by
feels like another bullet
in my little white-girl chest
another missed connection
another lack of affection
another desperate longing
another dis-belonging
to my very own home
to my very own hope
when every person passing by
is another untouchable story
in the glorious, gory reality of life
another nine to five
another struggle to survive
another family fight
another holdin on tight
to their very own home
to their very own hope
i'm tryina see it
for what it is
when i give out warm
and get cold in return
shattered shards
of fairytale mirrors
and abandoned hearts
without the trust--
the energy restart
i'm tryina see it
for what it is--
that 7 minute dance
from the metro to my house
broken truth
unafraid
to reflect
broken truth
for what it is--
that 7 minute dance
from the metro to my house
when every person passing by
feels like another bullet
in my little white-girl chest
another missed connection
another lack of affection
another desperate longing
another dis-belonging
to my very own home
to my very own hope
when every person passing by
is another untouchable story
in the glorious, gory reality of life
another nine to five
another struggle to survive
another family fight
another holdin on tight
to their very own home
to their very own hope
i'm tryina see it
for what it is
when i give out warm
and get cold in return
shattered shards
of fairytale mirrors
and abandoned hearts
without the trust--
the energy restart
i'm tryina see it
for what it is--
that 7 minute dance
from the metro to my house
broken truth
unafraid
to reflect
broken truth
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