The rape continuum

The sign says under 24 hour surveillance &
overhead the birds are the chaos of earth
 
falling apart. The voice (voice) voices
that live inside my head take music 
 
and swallow it as energy. You want to know
what it is I think of when I am alone--the eye
 
of watchfulness as my companion? Listen
for the music of the boys. Windows down,
 
hands tapping the dashboard, hair making
love to the wind--and their music as chaos
 
to out-strip the birds. Hear the blare of experience
echo: you give love a bad name. Watch their necks
 
crane toward the meat of girls. Watch their fingers knife
toward the sky and outward--to me as they move
 
just outside the field of vision of that 24 hour
all-seeing eye. The birds always cry, they 
 
have seen what is coming. They can read 
the broken Braille growing like mountains
 
over the plain  of my heart. Blackbird, blackbird,
is it possible to make the music                 stop

Author's Note

2021