Noise Complaint

I hear it     but what is the instrument

that voices the flashing red light strain

which no wrung  gauge twisting the possible could

and not implode out of  existence

we all know—

I have a few things     that need said

no humans have gone without saying

how hard and deep a deal this being has cut.

The sun rises straight down the hall on the bathroom mirror

bevel     rides the walls waving prismatic rainbow

festoons straddle the edges of  doors orgasmic knees crunch

a prayer spectrum compressed to screaming     brilliance—

minutes later no food     no money to move your shit

piled in the middle of  the floor     for eviction.

The driving arm of  the cello section runs

the white hot lightning    strokes     headlong

tearing out the track as the way the music goes

the inescapable rhythm’s     smoking

situation sounds     like what it’s playing—

these people     barely aboard attuned to     train

a composure over continual abyss

not specied for flight     no air but over—     a heated scream.

One old blues sounding line hums up some shit

so deep     the very chaos of

it all fell in

for the time     being a sooted black life suited

the burning cities     the streets

fashioned of the latest survival     the hot hit.




How hard and deep     a deal this being has cut

in one line    in Lead Belly     in “Black Girl”    he sings

his head was found  ’neath the drivin’  iron

his body     never was found     he asks

her  where     will she sleep the night     she replies

in the pines     in the pines

and it isn’t this particular night     nor some one

shivering woman    some long lonesome time ago

it’s the ongoing

it’s the national

anthem loop     holed through

which it gets out of

its own laws    its own song     across an escape by

from          sea to shining         hell rising up     the horizon.