Collective Unrest

 

through the night (oh say can you see)

July 4, 2018

Independence Day.
Celebrate.

Do we know why
we’re proud to be
American
any
more?

My brother and sisters tears can be
found in the burroughs next to your hills.

In chalk outlines.

In oil hikes.

My brothers and sisters tears can be
found in back alley’s crevices,
sucking for god or money,
though there’s little difference.

Found in each regret of a moment
spent
indulgent.

Found in each moment
of enjoyment.

My blood’s blood
can be found on the voter’s hands—
mostly indifferent of it.

My blood’s blood can be found
anywhere in the world–
spilled by those who have enough–
demanding too much.

 

Siris Reinier

Please follow and like us:
Newer Post

Three Poems

Phosphorescence Sisters One reached down to the other, both broken and twisted But this was before the waters came Atop a roof they shouted Over the storm Pulling one another to new heights, escaping Temporarily Never permanent But each time…
Read
Older Post

Red Darkness

Missile alert in Beer-Sheva, 2008 I could not walk like this And all the birds were red And yet I walked like this And all the birds were red And the branches of the olive tree And the people of…
Read
Random Post

Hit Me Again

I carried my anger everywhere. This hot lump of rage, tucked into my shirt pocket. I liked to have it near me. I liked feeling its warmth. Then one day, I lost it. I reached for it, and it wasn’t…
Read
Random Post

echo

After the wonder that is Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl”   I have seen the best minds of my generation rotting, stowing away in apartments and alleyways searching for something to fill the abysses and gaps and voids and holes boring through…
Read
Random Post

Slow Information

*Previously published in Alligator Jupiter, Fall 2002, and Poets Against the War, March 2003 You decide to paint something, a portrait, say, of Hitler reclining. Grove of red roses. Blue sky padded with glowing white cumuli. Your daughter’s doll between…
Read
Random Post

On September 22

we were discussing cropdusters, The Plague, logistics, ammonium sulfite, the word weaponize when I saw it through my dining room window—a crested woodpecker rappelling from trunk to trunk on an invisible trapeze, claws sunken noiselessly into thin bark. We were…
Read