avi sato . be thought . live dreams


Mornings After

You stand as a shrine
Enlightened shadow of Seshat’s scriptural tenets
Incarnate within my memories’ imaginings
Somehow though commensurate with ballpoint touches on fresh leaves

Why that image when paper dissolves in antiquities’ grasps
Replaced by summarily present contacts multiplied tenfold
Digital plastic communion sanctified by pixel-perfect prosody
Whining echoes of bloodstained traumas
Lost to all but the broken through disinformation’s fires
None but ash left of you whose first flame
Was extinguished by experience

You lie as speaker
Resonating darkness from souls’ depths
Onto guided targets’ forgotten senses
Become self again
Walk in imagined forests
Where shimmering distant tree peaks
Carve lazy arcs through astral clouds

Bend your story to words
Say your truth against ears
Wrapped in shrouds
Mornings’ death of your freedom
With last nights’ plentiful gendered acts
Receiving spirits’ overflowing energies
Dams’ shattered stones reflected in your verses

To spoken tongues trapped by disbelief
Taste bitter pasts to unbound eyes
You need not convince any longer

(Avi Sato, 2019)