February 13, 2021

There’s a boot crushing his throat
barricading the air in my lungs and a fortified knee
is lodged against her ribs and a baton
cracks my skull and chemicals spiked
with death birth the cries of disintegrating life
and water cannons blast her eye out
and we shift in and out of consciousness,
at once disembodied and trapped
in our flesh of glass. Space constricts in the face
of those out for blood and our howls for a life
compete for transmission with batons
bashing against ballistic shields.
Your monopoly of violence.
Your monopoly of air.
The thing about the body is that it is an archive
and the thing about trauma is that it drills
an active volcano into the chest.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s