One Year as a Mute

Speechless and aghast,

I am horse shackled,

scrubbing like 

Lady Macbeth 

at black blood pooling 

beneath my TV 

And I try to understand. 

 

Outside, 

children are screaming 

in the street,

playing kickball,

and I am tired

of saying nothing 

while our humanity 

creeps to ash

like a sizzling fuze.

 

I turn off the TV

and keep scrubbing,

knowing muteness

and knowing

I am the milk of human 

ignorance snaking into 

brains like tear gas

and I hate myself.

 

Outside, 

a police officer

drives by slowly,

Smiling and waving

to the kids, a shotgun

behind his head.

I imagine his body

cradled in his mother's 

arms like La Pieta

and I wonder how far 

would I have to push him

to kill me?

 

A young boy falls

in the street, bleeds

The same blood

and I want to open

the front door

and scream.

The boy doesn't know

About white noise

Or the black spaces

blooming squid ink

in the margins

between news tickers

and I’m ashamed

to be human. 

 

Outside, 

The dusky world 

is on fire and

I can't breathe. 

I turn the TV back on

anyways, letting flow

the red tide of

60 million or more

channels where 

love is the bleeped

word and the blood

Pours down the wall

Like The Shining.

 

Amnesia is less

than lethal but I'd

rather die than forget.

A blonde woman tells me

it’s been a whole year

of hashtags and 

dark matter and

I’m still scrubbing,

listening to sirens,

when my speechlessness 

breaks like a fever.