Excerpt for Breath in This Dust by Brad Wright, available in its entirety at Smashwords


The Best Ever


There are untold numbers of galaxies

Ours is the best ever though.

There are planets popping up daily

as our vision gets better

Ours is the best ever though.

All the others are inhospitable

there are no Abrahams on them

breaking out the choicest wine

for intergalactic strangers who wander by

the entrance of our tent

There are countless moons

Ours is the best ever though.

We hammered down the flag there

so that tells us so.


There are an infinite number of beliefs to be held

But ours are the truest ever though.

How do we know?

Because our sacred book

that we wrote for ourselves

tells us and everybody else so.


There are thousands of flags

But ours is the best ever though.

Those colors were painted on

by the hand of God

don't you know?

Attaching one to every pole and structure in sight

tells us so.





The People are Numb


It’s not an ideal endorsement

To point out a society’s

Obsession

with violence

Comfort

with violence

Numbness has set in

And comfort has come

with the numb

The ones we ordain heroes

Would cut our throats

Over a parking spot or less

Generations and generations

of killers

And a corresponding generation

of justifiers

Protecting the economy

That most sacred of our deities

Economic interests attract our bombs

Too bad real people live real lives

in the midst

Or die

real deaths

Somebody is going to have to clean this up

It will be the people,

when they grow up

It will be the people,

when they step up

It will be the people,

when we finally have enough

Give us a creative spark

So we don’t take up violent means

There is a scenic route

Of understanding and dialogue

Let’s ask who really wants it to stop

Who would play with this many lives?

Not stats, not ‘the enemy’

Your own damn brother

You are more like him than you think.





Small Circle


Narrow mind

Small circle

Scum on the bathroom wall

Scum for sale in the neighbor’s yard

Build that fence a bit higher

A coil of barbed wire at the top

He means business

Preserve this scum inside here

Roll it up in a ball

Let it grow

Put some lipstick on that ball of scum

Crown it queen of the county

Laugh and smile like you practice

Doesn’t imply that you ever mean it

To break in to the small circle

Was foolish to consider

People

run this circle

Don’t try to break in

Where people don’t want you

It’s small there

Hard to breathe

Let yourself out into the open spaces

And we can think clearly.






Marginalized


The realities of our respective contexts

Tell a story of exclusion

The mechanisms and machinery are varied

And there is a matter of degree


We’ve always had our lepers.

And they never have a chance.

Dreams are sold to them

They pay their life’s savings

For the Great Pipe Dream

And they pull from that pipe, and others

To escape the systems that cage them

The systems that paralyze them


The lucky ones

And the ones without conscience

Have their friends and means

Handed to them

Affirmative action for the privileged

Already overdosed on superficial affirmation

They feel so misunderstood

We’ll cry for the pain and emotional hurdles,

While the masses cry for preventable reasons

Reasons we flick out the window

As we speed by


The gods of an empire

Didn’t seem concerned with the common good

Only that we keep on ‘expanding our territory.’

Pushing colors and difference

Into the darkest corners

Where the establishment can hide them

Forsake

Interrogate

Marginalize

them.






The Sacred and the Profane


There’s a preacher behind every tree

Popping out with the bad news

Ten thousand who want answers

Questions are appropriate


Living in the wind

Sometimes we sail

Or rest

on a branching of recovery

Movement spends energy

Stillness somehow replenishes the supply

Everybody has always known

There is something sacred about water

The sounds it makes

And forms it takes

Calm our worried minds

Warms our frozen bones

Cools our cold-sweating foreheads

In the waiting rooms

As we sit in a circle

Trying to see who’s the craziest

Waiting on the magic potion

Addressing our own personal so-and-so’s

In the name of

Becoming ‘productive members of society’

Machines in human flesh

cartilage and nerves are real

Soul is in a coma.






Smilin’ Oppressor


Was born and raised in the timberlands

Fried chicken from the hands of a black employee

The way it was

And she was ‘one of the family’

But we didn’t really know what it meant

To have a dark sister

Who did all the hard work

Went back to her subsistence life

Loved them nevertheless

Taught them tolerance and respect

In a weird way

But still kept the hierarchy intact


Good vibes remain from integration

The winners always remember good vibes

When we say there were no problems

We mean that things were

orderly

Pronouncing peace and equality

While pumping our real clout into the machine

Of systematic bigotry and prejudice

Justified by gods and deformed law

We love those kids now

Just don’t let ‘em come home with my children

Or never date them

Or love them

She’s had a history of trouble with the law, you know

Shit man, who hasn’t in this system?

(Oh right, I forgot.)

The others are great athletes, but low on character and smarts

Low in species, is implied

A wink and a nod, surely means white pride.





Ticket to the Sun


The sun emanates

traveling light

It's only one sun

not so much an anomaly


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(Pages 1-7 show above.)