Poetry

At the blood-draw, in the dentist's chair

and during similar situations,

I think about my premature daughter,

the first time I saw her,

hunger or exhaustion? thirst or panic?
amnesia sparked my creativity, gestures
from a foreign language, my ribs keep wanting to flip open
unaware my feathers are long gone,
my bones a mix of libraries and waste sites

When four or more are gathered 
to bleach shattered dreams,
cleanse violent need, 
the majesty of mob
absorbs the incognito sin.

The dictators of the world
 
The dictators of film
 
The dictator inside us all
 
Burning of witches – medieval times “now”

                     One
                day I met my
             Master, at that mo-
        ment heaven & hell ceased
      To exist, even the dragon fly
       knew she cld. transcend