sword of mock

“It is not enough to try to get back to the people in that past out of which they have already emerged; rather we must join them in that fluctuating movement which they are just giving a shape to, and which, as soon as it has started, will be the signal for everything to be called in question. Let there be no mistake about it; it is to this zone of occult instability where the people dwell that we must come; and it is there that our souls are crystallized and that our perceptions and our lives are transfused with light.” – Frantz Fanon, “The Wretched of the Earth.”

I constitute the molecules of
an inner space as my answer; the

finality of plumb endings, filial
beginnings – ash, crumb, din – I

constitute the banal necessities
of atoms as my answer; the bits

of reason which have sworn allegiance
to a historic passion, an eager

resilience to foretelling, a sword
of mock, thrust of rock, sand, green.

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