I Can’t Breathe – Ode to George Floyd
06.02.20 Pasadena
What does it profit a man to put a knee
to another man’s neck. Stop the breath.
Stop a man from being.
What does it profit a man to put a knee
to another man’s neck. Silence the cries,
The echoes of ancestors toiling,
spirits crying. Distant patches of land parched
for aching hands lost. Songs never sung.
What does it profit a man to put a knee
to another man’s neck. Cut the ties that bind,
the many loves born woven by the beat of
every stone sitting still,
every corner of earth gathering time,
every tweeting bird drunk with the wind,
every growl, an angry lion cutting through,
every sweet nectar drying,
a petal bursting,
every barefoot scampering
to make a mark
to follow
to seek in the aloneness
of one’s time.
What does it profit a man to put a knee
to another man’s neck. Cut
the beat heaving, weaving
in the black of night,
where the seeker and the sought wait
in the golden light,
in every man’s heart,
in the spirit of desires
over and over and over
again.
Until the beat begins to hum . . .
the delicate oneness of being,
of time beating,
of loves whispering.
What does it profit a man to put a knee
to another man’s neck.
Clobber the many faces of time,
bits and pieces of the sun.
Crash the delicate oneness
of being,
time heaving,
all the loves whispering.
I can’t breathe.
What does it profit a man. . .