“Broken Generation”

 

the power to heal a broken generation resides in me.

i sit and dying shapes of fiber change color and fall and shrivel

syrupy-slow, they slow into molasses, sickly sweet grape medicine.

nothing but worn brown leather and corners of wrinkled pages.

silence.

we do not have the courage to move.

barriers of apathy and dead air close in

leaving only a cracked glass slipper

and a dusty warped book of pictures.

how do we change?

desperate cries of ninety lives and silence.

a thousand porpoises clubbed to death.

a small brown girl with acid in her eyes and tongue cut out, if only to beg a few more cents. our

worn green paper and dirty metal circles form the division between us and the

world.

no cure. time only strengthens the infallible wall.

no cure. no pills, no syringe, no serum.

but the music.

black and white inkdroplets across the blank blank page wash down that wall of metal.

sweetly haunting melodies pierce through and establish our human connection.

yet even now, thousands of years after its discovery, the music only digs an infinitesimal

tunnel

through the stale layers of grimy copper and laced paper.

but as a broken generation we raise our voices to the rhythm that surrounds us.

the rhythm that lives, breathes within us.