Roots, Bemoaned

leather desk stacked with leaves
which turn before a gasping fan
under the weight of reddened eyes
she fumbles and turns around a plan
to navigate the historic state of a nation
bemoaned and buried with fire and wood
how do we make this more profound?
how do we make this seem like good?
scribbles and tears and tears that sting
ink to swell a bruised disdain
thumbs grumble grim wood
rapping beats that are embossed in pain
in fire that is stoked by stacks
history is work’d into the ground
tabula rasa, white and pearled
each motion, each growl, each shiny pound

Fist Fights

each step

is faded

like snow

a fist fight

to walk

and make way

into dusk

stamp these

feet to dust

clench fist

crunch teeth

elbow forward

rattle that cold future

with arms rigid and wound

this is the clamour of life that shows

how and why we work and walk together

fist fights embolden the haste of our paced steps