24 May 2009

from DISPLACE [no. 5]

brass circles mimic round cheeks
full of culture
moving St. James Infirmary through pipes of place

melancholy melody
rising as a curtain to reveal
swollen, brown bodies lying like
strange fruit in the sun

song as shrill as the mournful cries of
nobody's people

lonely as the pleas of
a thousand souls wading through
poisons of the powerful with polished faces

one last breath of brass

the people exhale
notes as haunting as
the sins to be transcended.

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