Buzz-
I can feel my arms breaking
My forearms reaching for help;
A cry of despair and a longing
For a stable connection---
to you.
My arms, my fingers, grasping grasping---
for you.
Sweat and dirt, mud.
Muddy fingers slipping---
from you.
A mix of hatred and anger from their soiled feet.
They stomp stomp stomp the ground beneath them
Until it breaks, until their prejudices break me---
from you.
My arms. I can feel my shoulders pulled forward
While your fingers tug mine---
toward you.
My fingers are bleeding; crushed and mangled.
But they still hold on, they still fight for justice.
They fight---
for you.
Slipping. Slipping. My fingers are slipping.
My blood. A spilled innocence. Me. They won't let me.
They see my manly fingers, potential seeds for the womb,
As blasphemy to be---
with you.
My battered knuckles are straining. My muscles are stretching.
My veins are a pool of sorrow,
And my heart, my heart;
Pumping, begging;
My pleas of belonging---
to you.
My heart feels your inner drums inside
And they are beating. Beating. Beating...
They drum through my flesh, my fleshy knuckles-
And resonate our memories through the dark waters
Streaming from my hands; a familiar dark red.
It is painful. It hurts to be---
with you.
And my eyes. I can't see. They are clouded.
Blind. Blinded by their kicking feet
Which engrave granules of jaded rocks,
Of a jaded sentimentality onto my eyes.
It is salted sand digging into my pupils,
Digging with it's narrowed illusions;
Illusions of man and woman. Not me---
and you.
Spinning together with my eyes closed,
I can see the static images,
The white-colored afterthoughts
Of my fingers imprinted behind my eye lids,
Of my fingers buzzing in this itching darkness
Surrounding my eyes.
Buzz.
My fingers are splitting---
from you.
Spinning together. Spinning.
I can feel your fingers holding onto mine.
Strong. Tense. Manly;
A course grip of fear.
You are not letting go---
of me.
Your fingers are almost impervious to their feet.
Your nails scrape at their skinless soles,
At their prejudices against you---
and me.
Against you and me.
Against you and me.
But there are so many of them.
So many toes sanding my eyes with scratches.
So many heels grinding our fingers to bony grips.
So many.
Buzz---
A soft crack; splintered agony.
Our fingers split.
I am on the floor.
Buzz---
Silence; an echo of my heart screaming.
Buzz---
My veins are dangling.
My life is running from the persecutors.
It pours out through my shattered veins,
Into the black mud all around my body.
Buzz---
All around me I see a vapor,
A white shadow through my closed eyes.
It plays with my black vision;
A distortion among a sea of suspended snow.
It is wrapping itself with my expectations,
Of patterns of your face reaching into mine,
Into my memories of you.
Buzz---
It is you.
You are still holding on to me, to our memories of us.
Buzz---
I can feel you across the miles of my fallen body.
Muddy, almost physical;
Like there was no separation between us.
I can feel you right beside me,
An invisible hand with no bruises.
Buzz---
We are still holding.
Together. In our minds.
Buzz---
Angel Ochoa Izaguirre
03/29/05