high society

“the master’s tools will never
the master’s house
but we are not mere tools
so let us not speak of our troubles
and mine
inside this castle..}
{this fortress
is fortified
by hands
crumbled under bricks
and lay against crushed clay mortar
as if moths between jars
and concrete;
metal hats
fit not our crowns
and royal jelly
dissolves our teeth.

our conversation
never meant was contained to be:
the word,when  &
the creator spoke silence
into nothingness

we are (and always halve been) -ness  and -ness
and -ness  and -ness,
less than a whole
but always together

The beginning of the quote is the title of an essay on anti-racist, pro-queer feminism by Audre Lorde. The essay can be found here: http://lists.econ.utah.edu/pipermail/margins-to-centre/2006-March/000794.html


Be warmed by the fires of love.
Be rocks drearily coaxed into slow, radiant heat;
bask baking bare to the breeze. Be the middle of the circle. the centre of family.
the baby born into the arms of grandmother and grandfather.
Be the beat of feet and soft bed of palms turned up to the sky.
Be the whispered moment. Be the background voices and the sound of mom. ear to warm chest,
like the ear to a shell. it is the ocean calling.
Be seen in the dancing shadows. Be the delighted shrieking children.
Be the hunters drinking mead.
Be the warm mug of coffee, cigarette in finger,
hands wrapped ’round glazing clay; looking down
into a bowl of stars.