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Poem

You can feel them move through streets
Emblazoned with sirens' primary colors,
A swatch of fjord's colonial flagship hues
Left to slap in the wind of reorderd forms
Until sheared into confetti strips. Scripts 
Writ into a code are but partial prophecy.
The DA wants to press on with felony 
Charges, I push the 19-gauge needle in
& the accompanying rush pushes body 
Into a boundary line, the structure of 
Which is the last remaining imaginative 
Object capable of delivering feeling past
The anesthesia opening in a field. The
Chainlink perimeter under which a fox
Slinks prefigures a new condominium.
ICE & breaks in space by metal fences 
Shows this complicity, shrugging off 
The children & their parents. Dead signs.
Heart's venous throb generously snuffs
Out what is outside it for an interiority,
A maze academics dream up in Molotov,
Professional rebels rendering in febrile 
Flame navel via strained restraint or ex-
cess. Case in point former piston pitch. 
Grammy loses her mind in a house 
She's got no memory of; she's three blocks
From mama's house which burned down
On Christmas. I managed to get the dog
& Grammy out; my mama was having a 
Drink at Brenda's; woke up to crunching 
Sounds inside the walls & a melting steel
Conduit burning my hand. Only did find
One extinguisher; the can went at its 
Solo with undue gumption. I used to know 
How to express love to her. Legibly
It read with regular meter & rhythm.
She helped my little brother evict me 
From my older brother's basement late
In winter. Translating pain is impossible.
I head toward a motel looking for another
Charge or broken relation where the songs' 
Derangements are far beyond the promise
Of beauty's industrial rows, though the
Furrows' signals are petal-like, freshly dead.

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