money runs like blood through the big american corpsemy big american corpse takes the subway chewsthe same piece of gum too long like cud like cowswe mill in the smoke between tracks eyes wideand sightless our big american mouths follow hungerto hunger won’t see the plainclothes cop until it's toolate won’t see him put his hands on a dirty armwon’t remember where that arm goes when itdisappears into the non-place of a blue and whitevan sent to that other island where they take bodieswe fear as if a person could vanish in a burst of whitelight as if a person were a problem we could solvedo you believe we are innocent like animalslike characters inserted for comic relief do you believewhen the last brown face disappears from your blockyou will finally feel safe do you believe to feel safeis the same as happiness do you believe everything you’re tolddid you believe you’d lose nothing when you askedthe machine to think for you to write your wedding vowsand grocery lists to tell you when to smile when to jumphow high did you start to believe it could not turnits face back to us that it would not show its teeth to quietbeasts fawning at its feet it’s hard for me to say ‘us’even when I know it’s the right word even when I knowI’m the ghost in the shell we’re the ghosts it’s one shell and just when I believe I can’t stand another momentalive moving like oil like money through this lifeless bodymy body tries to survive a man clips my shoulderhe steadies me a thin hand dusty knuckleshe smiles before he turns to face the little black boxfrom his pocket heat of his hand still on my shoulderplace our eyes met in the air human easyplace where his dark american face meets my paleamerican face meets wind pouring out hot from the tunneland the man waits next to me now his beautiful dark cheeksand his beautiful dark eyes move beneath their purple lidsand the nod and nod of his head to what I can'thear the two of us wait for the train and the two of uswait like fledglings on a high branch for the moment his faceturns back to my face and there is no face left between us————————————–Birch Wiley called us from Brooklyn, NY.voicemailpoems.org/submit/facebook.com/voicemailpoemsx.com/voicemailpoemsbsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.socialinstagram.com/voicemailpoems