accused

who will hear me?
who will listen
will you?

dig the wax from your ears
drill through the complacent rock
blocking the drum that catches my voice

can't you hear a piece of my pain
sense me standing next to you
desirous of justice demanded by you?

am i guilty because you can't face yourself?
is your negligence reason to imprison me?
are you God as to speak my truth?

see then the truth igniting my eyes
scorching my fever
circling my pain



*...our thinking is imprisoned in language categories and fixed definitions that become so habitual that we fail to recognize the freshness of ever-changing life.
-Robert Lawlor



*I'm spending this last year in Kyoto letting the city imprint its shape and colors in my inner landscape, so I'll have a memory of this place.  I'm spending this time like one who knows she is dying; everything is precious because everything is disappearing.
-Janet Heyneman