the deafening silence (a psalm to summon sight)

the release of Albert Woodfox

from his forty years

of solitary confinement,

that relentless and unwarranted

spiteful torture

that quarantines and stifles

so many Black Panthers,

ended last week

with the accustomed omission

of the slightest admission

or vaguest hint of apology.

the silence was deafening.

the twin myths of equal justice

in the land of selective personhood

are as shifting and groundless

as the delusional rumours

of democratic intentions

drifting past its bloodied banks

where unrepentant outcasts

lift weary, unruly heads,

treading the savage,

flag waving currents

of foaming, regurgitated hate.

they are bobbing against

the collateral catch of the day,

in the teeming, conscience-fraying nets

of threatening profiles,

zapped, hapless bystanders,

and sundry uncounted

"bad guy" civilians

with their pigments or passiveness,

their peaceful, earthy protests,

indecent indigence,

or sinful feminine parts;

all of the voice-deprived,

inessential children

of a lesser, unprofitable god.

and they drown in the blunted indifference

of America's unique brand

of self-indulgent

arrogant ignorance,

faithfully broadcast

from sea to pitiless sea,

resplendently shining

in the stultifying waves

of exceptional, milky denial.

would that these blithe bombers,

the blinded and boastful

usurpers of homelands

could unravel the patriarchs'

fabled protection,

unscramble their annals

of evasive projection,

and encountering their own

neglected reflection

discover by some
unprecedented miracle

the flickering, recessive remnants

of their hitherto unimagined

quivering humanity.

- Evan Hawthorn, the 26^th of February, 2016