Sunday, September 11, 2011


The soot still stains me,
Clings to my skin
Never lets go.
I can still feel it
In the cracks where
Fingers meet hand
Or break apart from another,
Stretching towards their own suns.
Still feel it
Where my arms and legs bend,

Where my neck extends
From torso
To connect head to chest
Brain to blood pump metronome
Two structures keeping each other alive
As best they can.

It defies fingernails
Dares soap to come get it,
It laughs at Lady MacBeth,
Saying you don’t KNOW
from spots.

It splits atoms and seeps
Below skin,
Drops into veins and
Visits blood cells,
Passes time with amino acids
In the stomach
makes itself
Permanent parts of us
Inside and out.

The soot is still in the air
Still landing on cars I no longer own
Still forming a crust
On everything I touch
Still invading conversations,
Extending invitations
To unwanted thoughts
To stay long past their non-welcome.

Its still being made into ink,
Printed and shipped
To other countries,
Still fresh on the bombs we drop
On others.
We’re still importing it
Everywhere we go
Wearing it
Like sheriff stars we had
No business brandishing
And should never have forged.

we’re still crafting bars from it
still hurling it like epithets at each other.
Still clutching it
Like pressure and heat and time
Will reverse clocks
Or at least turn the soot
Back to bone flesh steel glass
Heart brain hope skyline

Like our September will just be given back to us.


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