18. SiO₂

ever in the fourth case | but time

interminable yet counted | the space of a breath

the perspective of an acorn’s miracle into oak

I wash my face each day | in ablution of the sin of living

or is it sing? | my voice rough and | agoraphobic

bring me not the softest | wool for the roughest skin

I speak in brokennesses | the eruption of breath

not speech | the bee inside the ear has no place to land

or fall | midsommer is the name we now apply to spring

we may not survive | so we will be represented by relics

a bottle of fingernails and fishhooks | a bottle of needles

and urine | yet we cannot scare away another witch

for there are none to frighten | do you remember me?

I was the one lost in the woods | begging for direction

following crumbs I did trace the path of | back to the house

of gingerbread and marzipan | where the chimney belched

a thick but meaty scent | reminiscent of a good horse steak

to be in a prison of the mind | is to be alive in this century

the 21^st | from which we cannot imagine survival

as if | as if survival were a possibility | as if it were a choice

if you could erupt something | what would that be?

chalcedony | almost butter | yet still rough | an outcast

we verify every fact | so we can varify every response to it

I see in you a hope for the past | you have forgotten the past

has been completed | without exoneration | do you expect

change? | do you hope | instead | for folding money

do not make jokes | at the future’s expense | we won’t be here

to see it | “I can’t breathe” | is a performative statement

“hey, the guy can breathe enough to speak” | “what is the problem?

if he is alive at the point | of speaking | nothing else matters”

he has had his | say | better to’ve said | “leave me for the ages”

but let’s move on | stats show we don’t | shoot black men enough

and these are statistics | Mark Twain | (“two fathoms deep”)

claims they are worse than lies | but | leave a man that far under

and he is bound to die | breath is only needed for the living | our

program supports those who are supposed to | live | why do

so many claim that precious right | the flag | Confederate

you see | is a symbol of heritage | our precious right to support

the enslavement of any human people we choose | as a god-

given right | is wrong | some say | we cannot live that way

did you remember when you told me | black people were pretty

as children? | did you remember when the three of you left me

a KKK Kalling Kard | announcing your support of | I do not know

what | slavery? | subjugation? | the deification of your white skin?

So milky I thought it might sour | did you remember I showed you

the card | and you said | “more power to them” | because at least

they believed in something? | is any belief better than action?

is your action better than love? | we live in a desiccated world

why do you say | “and when they are breaking into your house

at twelve in the evening”? | did you mean the police have a right to

kill | at their discretion | any one person | of dark enough skin?

you said | “a lot of it is common sense” | about safety comfort

control | did you mean | “a building is worth more than a human

life | if that life’s skin is darker than [yours]”? | what are the specific

streets | you want to dominate? | why do you say | “school choice is

the civil right of our time”? | why do you | “feel badly”? | are your

fingers | your sense of touch | as broken as your heart? | can we allow

our people to die | to assuage your exalted sense of self? | why

is the death of one thousand black men | worth | a sense of

superiority? | why do you believe not all humans are human?