for Page poetry makes nothing happen —W. H. Auden the people in the streets are plucked up like radishes from dark earth, heads beat the purplish-red of ripeness. the women lead the stupid & brutish to a future they don't deserve. the organized are still unbearably human, they still fuck & hurt & harm & are not actually sorry. the people still fight each other too much & the system not enough & too often it is not a fight but a bullet. too many men want to be in the front & don't want to march anywhere in particular. some of us have degrees & noses to look down. so many want a version of old days that never existed. many are still unwilling to grow a vocabulary for personhood, even from the words already in them. so many will deny they to a sibling simply because. our people are messy & messed up & a mess. nothing about our people is romantic & it shouldn't be. our people deserve poetry without meter. we deserve our own jagged rhythm & our own uneven walk toward sun. you make happening happen. we happen to love. this is our greatest action. Copyright © 2017 Nate Marshall. Used with permission of the author. |
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