Each bus line a grime-filled artery,
Each soup line snaking concrete corners,
slithering in human filth like wet soil,
wet and thick and fast like noseblood;
Each baton beat, each bullet, a warning pulse of the overfatted ventricle,
not unable, unwilling to double-circulate.
In the Superior vena cava,
Each scaffold-skeleton laughingly, mockingly, rises,
out of the ashes of fourth generation family albums and one-eyed teddies,
out of the red and gold ashes of bodies, trapped behind blocked doors;
But the self-blinkered purebreds rename this death: Phoenix,
rename this war: Progress,
rename my heart: Theirs.
I’m worn out on outrage,
Learned-helpless, shocked dog.
This aint blood boil and fist fight,
Maya Castleman is a musician, poet, and proud San Franciscan. You can check out her music at www.mayacastleman.com