A wonderful signature folding work with poem from Linda Rogers
David Reekie, the Captive
Audience.
Bled out, Reekie’s glass
audience emerges from
sand heated to unbearable
temperatures and stands
at attention, corralled
by a scarlet umbilicus
Empty vessels wait in
unisex/unison/silence,
cooling down, listening
for radio voices, sudden
brainstorms/flashbacks
refracted in fragile
containers.
Memory! Parthenogenesis!
It’s still a mystery what’s
been resolved/dissolved
in the muffled percussion of
rain and plastic umbrellas
opening inside out on the
Highways of Tears and
clothes-
lines where severed tongues
are
tagged with the names of
martyrs:
Che, Matthew, Mateah,
Trayvon.
Which will be the first to
anneal,
arrive at body temperature
and
recall sex and death, rainbow
coalitions, to grieve the
lost wax,
former skin peeled off in
cosmetic
debriding: the cost of
freedom in
Damascus, Moscow, Istanbul,
Montreal, Cairo, Wounded
Knee,
and that barbed wire fence in
Laramie, Wyoming.
Which crystal spirit will
take
the leap into freedom. Whose
neck will be the firdst to
slump
under the weight of dreams,
twist and turn to the light?
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