Sunday, April 6, 2014

791 II

It´s like a whip in in these project nights
as if these high rise concrete buildings
where the window lights go out one by one

like a whiplash to them skies above in diamond
going out

as if we were never meant to go any further as we
had no choice but to turn the lights out and never ask
for anything but sleeping subway trains and closing
hot dog stands as if this was all we were promised

as we were never more than slaves born only
to wake up with the alarm clock siren to
another day in the machine making machine

As if my patrons of the diesel dunking heart
rain shine arteries were never there

as if the shining neon snakes that wriggle through the nights
of ice to warmth to harbor
as if those dawns
were never there

as if my kingdom of the destitute, the homeless and the drunk
were not your fears
and punch clock worries
as if they did not not guard the tired, lost and weary 

As if she wouldn´t 
the kids asleep

put a Violetta Parra record on the gramophone
leaning on the railings of her balcony

watch the Somalian kids
talking quietly

outside the closed down
super market and the taxi driver
finishing his cigarette

and my diesel dunking kingdom taking off from concrete key
entering the shallow waters of the rivers grey of dawn just as a
tired woman
coughs her sleep away and

turns in her seat
returns to dream


sends a prayer from her balcony
for her children
concrete homes
it´s dwellers

for all those this
project made 


the crystal lightning high rise wonders and their
dusty daylight waiting for  

and all those in it here and now and ever

No comments:

Post a Comment