Jayne Cortez I
sit shiva in a parallel universe of the
ugly/beautiful. Millions
of dead relatives start weeping. The living sob. Poets
and musicians gather in her name, in the name of her muse. Meditators from many disciplines offer her
encouragement. While
Jayne, the imagination you imagined Protects
us from the mercenaries of illusion. Keep
us from getting stuck on the global production line. Break
our engagement to the pawnshop of scars. Prepare
us for the pregnant burning skeletons Giving birth all around us. Love,
may her story be ground out and mixed in a bottle of Cobra. Keep
her words from the rundown sphincter of electric chairs That
jolts us from these jackal jail yards To
the inferior rejected dominated oppressed excrescent road Of
bullet-pierced ghetto ghosts mowing down the ruling class, Cold
blooded lynch mobs, hideous bigots. Savage
the silence with corpses Jamming
& reading with street drummers On
the Plumb Line of the Soul Where
the angels, with their laxatives of white shit white fear, Keep
us safe from ecodevastation, biological weapons, new diseases. Hold
us up in the blue mule true nerve fusion. 5 January 2013 [Published in The Groundless Ground: Poems 2010-2014. © 2014 by Jim
Cohn.] |
APPEARS IN The Groundless Ground: Poems 2010-2014 |