when you learn to say No
with the energy of 1 black belt in karate
or to say Yes / with the certainty
that soon the stars will have 1 color
that after enough time has passed we’ll understand
The apparently static & fleeting
threatens to burn up & with kisses
the hour when the great political rebellions seem buried
(so say the bourgeois economists from their antiaircraft introspections)
But 1 still sees life
as deserving 1 handmade tattoo
even though right now it’s posing for some invisible photographer
that could be the burning climate itself
Even though right now it would only seem
that beauty is emotively radicalized
like multicolored T-shirts that say: kiss me
from the most erogenous part of their torsos
like 2 brats (rumored to be hippies or anarchists)
who promise to meet
at that hour / at that sunset
in the Ray Bradbruy Port of the channels of Mars
/ No matter what
right there /
Under 1 sky that van Gogh would give thanks for in 6 languages /
& what whiteness will you add to this whiteness
what spirit / what valor?