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.

this new vista

“But the native intellectual who wishes to create an authentic work of art must realize that the truths of a nation are in the first place its realities. He must go on until he has found the seething pot out of which the learning of the future will emerge.” Frantz Fanon, “The Wretched of the Earth”.

this new vista, a gradual
leaflet of sky, the rune

of an antiquity resigned
to seed the fringes of an

ticipation: the grunge and
dung of it, the hapless

beat of song’s tyranny cap
tured in this visitation.