Sunday, April 07, 2013

[Poem 7] Bury me dreaming

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When you bury me
a literary cultural center
with a café for talking
over my grave.
I will be silent,
I will listen carefully,
Scribble down
your words and conversations
your manifestos
your romances
your silent thoughts in my irises
to your loved ones
in the most fertile roots of my grave.
My body will nourish your struggles.
My words will gestate in your lungs.
Bury me dreaming.

Carry my voice
across the river
Drag my body
Through the desert
Don’t let my bones
turn into stone
Carry my dust
In your pockets
On your tongue.
Bury me dreaming.
I tell my work:
Disobey me.
I read my words,
I disobey them.
I write my words:
Don’t let them
think for you.
Run your eyes
over each curve and wrinkle
of my scribbles
that’s how I think
unsmooth, crooked,
jagged ideas,
songs wrecking
into each other
into you
a broken path
holes, ruts,
in the middle of thoughts
chaotic rhythms
spontaneous languages
to make you slow down.
You listen,
the static
the overtones
of a reed
stuck in my lungs
Don’t let my words
sing for you

What can defeat
If you do not
love me,
If I do not
take care of you.

we are:
The wall
they cannot build,
The border
they cannot
double cross
The community
they cannot
The new word
that overthrows their tongues
and opens up
the lands.

You can kill me,
my skeleton will rise up
Out of every closet.
You can bury me upside down
And flowers will sprout form my anus.
You can disappear me,
My shadows will haunt you.
My voice will continue transmitting
Over the airwaves.
You can jail me
But it will be cheaper
To force me into your universities
to write useless
essays and book reports.
The worst thing
has already happened to me.
Everything else
is a surprise
That makes me laugh harder.
Bury me dreaming…

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