Star Skin: Scars

Star skin scars

The foghorn springs
this inner light
on, awakened
urgent
i peer through the uncertain
(voices call)

If we listen we can hear.  The foghorn sounds and one might wonder
how much desperation
can this container hold


who in our star skin are bought and sold for cars
bought and sold for linens
bought and sold for sneakers
bought and sold for bread?

shehesheheshehe

can’t speak at home
he isn’t heard
there is no substance behind the word
she holds herself by the ankles
rocking softly
beside her dream
once a freight train father
rolled through her thighs
she put it out of mind
until
one day the scar became a seam.

our star skin is criss crossed and sided
ever sub divided with the narratives
but in the end we can stuff ourselves surfeit
how much of this THIS
how much until the pain is too much?

we look away from the millions
the skin and bone
third world figures
who are still human,
atop garbage fills
looking for dinner.

how long until the quiet discontent
finds the image sound or scene
that we have stuffed under skin
so smooth, under words so bare
and afraid to breathe
how long until our scar becomes
the seam?

trace with me, this aching arc
so that we might find the ways within our star skin to
realign the ways of being
ways of seeing one another
as sister, father, mother, brother