We are climates weathering this moment
thinking and feeling the minutes
as they pass unnoticed
or stabbed by past errors
our eyes witness longing
in another’s eyes
read words that conspire
to marginalize colour and shape
as if a blackboard is wiped clean
words written by tears
history or herstory
their story and ours
looks for a road to walk down
up and around like the number 8
its infinite circling over the same old
arguments guzzling gas
we cannot move forward
on that street while a truck
hogs the road silencing our minds
into submission we leave the city
its modelling of rationality
its spread sheets of plus
or minus as though
white supremacy is a truck
that sits on top of the moon
and sun guiding our spirits—
no! Turn off that engine now.
Breathe again and return the world
to stargazers and fruit flies
flowers and trees—love these
more than metallic toys built to be used
not worshipped.
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