the maintenance of power
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There is a machine begging
to be followed. There is a way needed to be had. A system never holds its breath, never stops to listen to its stars, and our lungs burn like houses in the middle of a soft war. We are walking to the train and the train is coming to get us. We put our hands in our pockets because we are cold, but in our pockets is where we also go to hide. Words are instigating floods and fires and no one can see the machine or hear the world calling. We do not know where to find the source. We radar the streets with such poise. And when we open our mouths to sing, we sometimes scare our ignorance to a whole new level of amendment. The story always and never becoming ours. |
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Curtis Perdue is the author of one full length collection and two chapbooks. Recent work has appeared in Yes, Poetry and Poetry City, USA. He lives in South Kingstown, Rhode Island, with his beautiful family.