You Make the Culture


With the permission of the author, Amy King, I am re-posting this wonderful (not in the trite sense, but in the sense of provoking genuine wonder), challenging, and very thought-provoking poem that was distributed by in their Poem-a-Day daily e-mail.


You Make the Culture

Amy King

The words became librarians, custodians of people

I looked for on the bridge.

I forgot my own face.

I read the book backwards, and

I painted your name in lace

(I drink only the milk of script as beer).

I dislocate all gallery aesthetics,

I carry keys for Baltimore and

Go where no one is my name.

I wish I could sculpt a healing street

from a blanket of guns. The way the sun drops

behind a onearmed

cop & we default

to believing in voices. This is the trough of sleep

we draw from. Even gravity works at night.

If I…

View original post 482 more words


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