Anthropology

Things appear from the past.. 

An identity of distance between footprints and the body.

It's geography and history is in tiny, sparse things. 

In its own faded corner.

It has something in common with white.
Something about its patience annoys you.
You get restless and begin to count in seconds
minutes...
till it isn't.
it is no longer.

Like that mother, father, brother, sister, everything, 

nothing with a non-commissioned past and 

a discordantly silent future keeps grazing past.

What's the name of her land? The one that is ransacked.

That everyone and everything uncivilized remains:

Hungered. Violated. Burnt. Hunted. Preyed. Frightened and Quiet.

Buried in print.

You cannot visit their history. Their geography.

You invent reasons. You invent teleology. 

You have things to say.

Things that agree with your taste.

Soon it is populated with words. 

Stoic mute lifeless alphabets. 

Blind like bats. They do not know they are from you

and hence have no meaning. 

But I wish they did. I wish they had heart

and knew how it feels to be whipped.

Reviews

[Corset]

Stanza two is brilliant in the way I feel time slipping, and I can't really claim to know what you are trying to say here, it's intelligence is way over my head, but it feels impatient, but resigned. I loved the last two lines, I can relate to those really well.

[Tree]

I like the way your mind works. A poem of profound meaning
found in almost every verse. Sometimes there is just too much distance
too much pain buried where the roots are. Better to just leave it to the
archeologists. Anyhow, that is what I take from this excellent piece.