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26 September 2010 @ 01:01 pm
resurrect america  
in amber-soaked rooms,
the aroma of sandalwood coils and wafts about our
heads; limbs like ivy sprawl over tired furniture
as fingers graze over skin latent.
one drink short of complacent, we deftly check
for reflexes; between layers of flesh and bone, we sense
the budding anticipation of

CHANGE,

but only heads bob and shoulders roll
as even WORDS give way to
gravity; those pesky little prepositions
do so love to sneak in at the end of our sentences–
well, maybe my sentences–
yours always seem
perfect; so intricately
perfect, as if a piece of you
expires in the parting of each breath.

yet we continue to slip into the cracks between
lucidity and sleep; we are a dreamless people.
(WAKE UP!)
our captivation with CHANGE quickly grows
convoluted,
disillusioned,
eventually altogether absent.

perhaps this external (internal?) dialogue is
nothing more than some makeshift screen.
(WHAT ARE WE TRYING TO HIDE?)
maybe WORDS are dangling
strings; teases, distractions
that suspend us from all that we fear to
face.

maybe there is no enigma to solve–
maybe we are just that transparent after all.



when we think we have
nothing left,
it is here that CHANGE loses foothold;
our bondage to CONTROL and
GOOD INTENTIONS are broken.
no longer will the cure be force-fed
capsuled repression; what was the use
if we were still led to
(LIED TO)
search for answers in carnal
oppression?

no longer will a one-click nation's
transgressions be hidden by sleight of hand.
(WHERE IS OUR PRIDE NOW?)
the law does not save us;
it condemns us all.



there is a shift in the silence; our
WORDS have no weight.
it is a slow awakening to acknowledge
one's own depravity,
even slower to acknowledge
one's own helplessness.

but even as we walk amongst
ashen faces and vacant eyes
tonight, we will see beyond the shroud;
we will see the pierced hands and feet, and it will
break us
when we realize this self-inflicted INDEPENDENCE,
this bastardized sense of
LIBERTY was never about
ENTITLEMENT–when we finally understand
freedom has a price.



this is what we cling to at our most humble:
pure,
simple

truth.



in the small hours of that morning, the
smoke dispels; we blink as necks stretch back,
heads angle upwards.
and i watch for the first time
the curve in your lips,
the swell in your chest,
and the glow in your eyes.

at last, we will not FEEL ALIVE but
be alive,

and we will dream again.
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