We strafe the sullen streets
aeroplaning, saddlebacked
shouting from the gleams of juddered windows
CS and samoon in our chests
Counting in Spanish arches and ripplecrete facades
the glimmered signs of a promissory life
In the flash bang sunset
a startle reflex shuts your eyes
lids virginal and traffic hazard red
weeping in choked euphoria
a dolorous translucence
Alexander McQueen is burning
as sly as Lusitania
They must protect Rodeo Drive
from this tragedy, the news announcer says
We eat in handfuls Chinese denim
Kevlar and PVC
with that intoxicating stink
as if a sheep died in a tank
all pina colada evening
by that British artist
whose name I forget
full of whore whore laughter, built in the Tate
the holy 16 by 9, a tendril murk within
I saw in the library in an oil slick magazine
before it closed for bibles and the basic math
of projectile launchers and chloroquine ballistics
Wondering if the calculus of hate
Will end
When every cop kneels in grief
Those that still imagine a man trapped beneath
the weight of historic impunity
made to weep
Hold a lion in your arms
In the cage you built and broke
hope it sleeps.
(6 June 2020)
