Poems are not read: they are reread. Reread the poem, then read between the lines, then look at it, then watch it, then peek at it: handle it like an object. Contemplate its shadows, angles and dimensions.
—Terrance Hayes

In a dingy storage unit with aluminum doors,
packed high & tight with art & artifacts,
I spill into the timeless hall with ill-timed timer lights.
In between their flickering illuminations
(& perhaps with the hubris of infinity)
I will sightless contour drawings to dance again.
With stacks of vintage mono prints, I sift, shuffle,
& rip for release & resurrection,
thereby multiplying multiple visions.
By infusion & extraction, I fuse fiery recollections
to invigorate uncanny reinventions.

If a poem can chisel to distill, reveal & rearrange
a clutch of worn out, drag down shit,
draining funds in an airless storage space,
(alongside nuggets of nostalgic secret stash),
then can we apply this intuitive strategy
to the edges of darkness & the depths of dread?
Could we swiftly & judiciously delete the detritus,
the excess, the horrors, the hoarding & hate?
Could we excise evil with precision & wisdom,
divine insights & manifest sharp oversight?
Yes—yes we can. If we draw (on) deep truth,
fierce love & unfettered freedom to speak!