In This Landscape
The morning always comes, brings
with it necessity: miles traveled, bodies
carried, belongings lessened to nothing
more than cloth.
On nominal days this life of
the indispensable drags…
Across the horizon some shanty town burns.
The sky is glazed, brown Vaseline, seems
Hear the cries of someone wearing
a tire set afire?
Dryness blisters. The wireless crackles,
drowning out sound, converting voices to flies.
They drone in the eyes of children.
Light gloats, an oven sucking, its heat
depleting flesh, leather musculature,
the tired, the twig-like
caricaturized by gross irony
into bloated stomachs.
Famine festers, breathes.
Around the corner from the Missions,
imported tins, munitions get stocked.
They keep these locked up, soldiers,
government hired, cocking the usual guns…
Here is Eden:
this, another land, apolitical as sand
where the water which once flowed
flies blind as wind to sting, to sting…
To the bones not a thing but that adheres.
Stephen Mead, a resident of NY is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. His latest P.O.D. amazon release is an art-text hybrid, “According to the Order of Nature (We too are Cosmos Made)”, a work which takes to task the words which have been used against LGBT folks from time immemorial. In 2014 he began a webpage to gather links of his poetry being published in such zines as Great Works, Unlikely Stories, Quill & Parchment, etc., in one place: Poetry on the Line, Stephen Mead.