Echoes of Lightning

Echoes of Lightning

fourteenth summer in a millennia

Paper plates and limp napkins littered the flaky deck like used condoms; we all lay round the yard taking in the unsaturated blue of sky that the whole world fades into when a summer sun waves “goodbye see you tomorrow, 6am sharp, supposing you fair through the night”; the air rinsed us with such humidity and rung us out when the flag bandana girl whipped out the packet of stars; everyone took a few at first lit them to twirl above their heads creating their own halos; but tricky darkness falls wide and moves their palms in pantomime like druids, who swayed in circles, pounding the breast of the bonfire beast; we became witches; we became demons; and those halos sparked us to rebellion; we cursed the air with fire sticks; we burned anagrams into our eyelids so that we could only remember our names in the echoes of lightning; the sound would draw through the air and when we closed our eyes together we knew we saw the same spell cast at different angles; bandana girl and i lay in the grass dipping the fallen stardust in a water trough unaware of other echoes from other sparks that had already begun – but we felt them; the reverberation then – of lightning already forged in gunfire – of lightning that scarred the charred and dust crusted earth of the most recent strike – some 72 hours away from this Pennsylvania memorial – day light unwound now; six bodies six foot down now; cause one guy blew a cow now; cause he couldn’t get his cock mouthed; now those particles vibrate through us and the bright white pointed on our finger guns; but we ain’t got no gun problem; only the sparking fingers that beckon the target and “oops” snap the trigger; the only killing problem is a baby killing problem; the only women problem is a loudmouthed women problem; the only skin problem is a cancer skin problem; only justice is a religious kind of justice so to get anything done why not give away halos like oprah; here’s one for you; here’s one for you; here’s one for your company while your at it; maybe we can invite the foundation to next years picnic – god knows everyone else will already be wearing stripes; maybe it can bring the stars; maybe it will curse us for ornamenting our hair with fireworks and calling ourselves progressive; or warrior; or america; or free; maybe we won’t wear blue; maybe we wont wear white; maybe we will paint ourselves with the echoes of black hands and red coat hangers; maybe we will look up and wish to pluck out a few fifty stars so bandana girl and i can whisper them secrets and kiss them between us and maybe the white lightning will discharge into a beautiful black hole and leave this porch dappled with vapors of the aurora borealis; 

For Chen, Hong, Wang, For Cooper, Michaels-Martinez Weiss, For Brown, For Garner For the Future Infinite

©2014 Lex Vex