or, my post katrina voice
in the era of the soundless locomotive
our glass inspired symphonies
will dance like
lead upon charcoal upon paper
revealing to us the very upmost s
cream of tunnel echoes
in that great era of the silent tracking
all that shouts,
the mighty seagull, trumpet and
the great dissent
will partner with the great divide
and fall with the sound of
a thousand pins dropping
leaving a trail of light
pointing to some archaic scribbling on decrepit walls.
and in the heyday of the muted narrow forging
our banners will strike,
unknowingly, a current, a solid silencing of
and like glass upon water
the clouds will be framed
for righteous use,
Though I sit in Chelsea today, my heart is far from New York. Listening to KMHD's beautiful tribute all morning, with the rain falling here, wanting nothing more than to race down south and make something happen. The incredible pull I have felt all summer to be in New Orleans, but knowing I don't have all the pieces yet, all the necessities. Realizing that so much of my sadness this week isn't just from here, from stressors, but all those incredible waves of energy that seem to ride themselves north, that city that holds such a dear place in my heart.
My god, what a year of heartbreak it has been.