Compass

I built a compass out of elimination -

navigation (making my own choice)

to g.e.t o.u.t of discrimination - the

commotion stinging (me and my taboo

poetry.) Bony ankles. Bright colors.

Brother. Sister. Enemy (too many to

count) so I thread the thoughts of north

in my brown hair (you can see it in my

russet eyes - the real reflection - deep and

underneath it all.) The desert at my left;

the theft of my dream of it - asleep when

it's so cold that the walls swell (apparently

I could never spell it out) just watch as the

sun - the one in my mind - rose every morning

on sand burnt so dry it burrows into skin -

a wayward itch of handicap travelers.

I dream of north high in my star system

(it's neon and burns my eyes;

but if you squint you can see the shape of me)

Creating. Reiterating. (Ares; my father) a god

in the shape of my birth. Day after day. Way, without

word. East is strange to me (the west is my homeland -

the corner of west high up north) so high on this map.

Corner land - evergreen - sand - too much blue water;

up north (like when I lived down south, and in every

picture I took I saw ghosts.) My throat is cut from

this altercation. Outward sign of disrespect. Time is not

s p a c e yet race plays an issue here. Part of the sentence

in this world. A face (put on hate) it grins - it wins -

too much of the time (though not s p a c e - it spins)

I can't trace it. Replace it with something good. Deface it anew.

I built a compass out of frustration (underground railroad)

deportation. I want to be at one with (just one world) pure

like the cure I'm dreaming about. Scheming like seconds and

the s p a c e of waste. I travel, just to taste (peace!)