29 August 2011

Happy Birthday, Michael Jackson!

Mr. Jackson

Silences fill the air, the silence
of a jobless face. That of wings
as a bird flies off with a darner
in its beak, and in the mind's eye
the darner flees. Things that are silent
mean colour, feel, touch the language
again; say moth sounds an artist sees
with hands, on this tarred road
that feeds the city of Gary, Indiana, so quiet
only burnt carcasses remind us of the riot,
and freedoms we know are nearing.
A silence overwhelms the street, wearing
an afro and the white teeth of dissidence
or innocence, depending on which side
one is. A woman covers the distance
with vegetable hoopoes in a paper bag. Red
and dark green stalks sticking into the aftermath.
Sacks of potatoes and carrots at our feet.
And we dance, though what it is they seek
we do not know, why wherever we meet
they force us to disperse. The grand silence
has always been of course the first time
any body was able to walk in reverse.
_____

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