Judge'sDaughter
11/12/08, 11:54 PM
I was sitting on my bed in the dark
staring at a wall, dreaming in the back of my eyes
when I thought I heard the revolution
but it was only my wristwatch
ticking life away.
I turned to the mirror
and wondered what it would look like
and for a moment I saw it,
the revolution,
a new life,
but it was only my eyes,
shining at the thought of peace.
Will the revolution match my eyes,
I wonder,
Will it shimmer and shine through the dark?
Will it be soft like my bed
or as hard as he can get
when we make love
in the grass behind a mausoleum?
And for that matter, can a revolution really die-
I could have sworn that it danced in front of my eyes,
if only for a moment,
spreading a dusty wind to the corners of my room,
and the scent of some distant bloodshed
and 1936
and the noose around the neck of August Spies.
I stand
and look around me,
at my open window
and locked door
and listen once more for a clue, some beacon of hope;
but one person can listen for only so long.
As I turned back to my bed,
I could have sworn I heard it nearby
the revolution,
freedom,
but it was only a police car
followed closely by the sound of breaking glass
and the neighborhood kids running away
from the pigs that they've already learned to fear.
I'll change it for them,
so they don't have to dream in the back of their eyes-
it'll be at their fingertips.
Someday
We'll hear it in the streets,
in the sounds of breaking glass.
staring at a wall, dreaming in the back of my eyes
when I thought I heard the revolution
but it was only my wristwatch
ticking life away.
I turned to the mirror
and wondered what it would look like
and for a moment I saw it,
the revolution,
a new life,
but it was only my eyes,
shining at the thought of peace.
Will the revolution match my eyes,
I wonder,
Will it shimmer and shine through the dark?
Will it be soft like my bed
or as hard as he can get
when we make love
in the grass behind a mausoleum?
And for that matter, can a revolution really die-
I could have sworn that it danced in front of my eyes,
if only for a moment,
spreading a dusty wind to the corners of my room,
and the scent of some distant bloodshed
and 1936
and the noose around the neck of August Spies.
I stand
and look around me,
at my open window
and locked door
and listen once more for a clue, some beacon of hope;
but one person can listen for only so long.
As I turned back to my bed,
I could have sworn I heard it nearby
the revolution,
freedom,
but it was only a police car
followed closely by the sound of breaking glass
and the neighborhood kids running away
from the pigs that they've already learned to fear.
I'll change it for them,
so they don't have to dream in the back of their eyes-
it'll be at their fingertips.
Someday
We'll hear it in the streets,
in the sounds of breaking glass.