The Danger

March 25, 2008
Saw angels in rebellion,
my age, much rage,
gold-fired skin crowned
with mohawks, and quick pierced
I carried a flower and nodded my agreement
and they judged me to be
a nice enough stranger
Found the others with flowers in hand
who fought longer than I could know
blood vessels had born them away to distant
city-states of mind
brought them back burning
some in sage-tomato-basil-bloom remote
plots singing love only
love can matter now
others sharpened city dance to political manifestoes
broadened thoughts to justice
I nodded at a common dream
They said I was a helpful
and that was my desired way of being
Walked by plainclothes candle faces
who let each other be to join in circle
smiled and spoke
one to one like
two kind strangers
And by info/
digital thread spun around the globe
told me of distant ski-masked rebellion
desperate but not driven to brutality
and in a room of radios and hardbound books, I sat,
the Other, hoping that someday I might become
a relevant other
though I lived in the suburbs
that my hope to be a helpful outsider
out on the plane making quantum leaps
through the mental fire.

But in one room I said with anger
We will not stand for this, I said,
Two tones statled my teeth
the first, ooooo, perfect sound to be
driven from the mouth by a surprised heart's knock
the second, eeee, good for an uncertain breath
half-laughed from a forming grin
Two tones cradled by the mouth like liquor,
something to which I could lose my shape
and later I'd reason it all out
talk about solidarity and individual thought
but that when my mind dried by its own fire
not when I floated out in the green-tinted sea
where the swift undercurrent howled ooee.

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