Hour of the Wolf

triage in Seattle at Broadway & Pine,
 2^nd night of the WTO (1999)

at 3 AM – a dying time for the people   so a lot do die    this hour  
like it’s a custom      so it’s said: like hard time in the cry room   for little baby Who’s   
like a hot wire    buried in the wound     of all them little Who’s    that hurt so much

            (and so, the Why-so Big Who crawls into bed
            with dying creatures:  sin-eater  raven  empty
            eyeless   Big Who says “I’ll see you later,”
            Big Who says, “look backward, look ahead, look
            away.”  Big Who also says, “your ghost is only
            yours, so what’s the rub-a-dub, and why
            you all so goddamn guileless?”)

old man, dark-skin     cold-cold rain falls down
on an old man     face-down     in the street
shock grenades     dumpster barricades full of flame
tear gas drift   into neighborhoods     tight around
the little Who’s throat   coughs hard    deep   choking on it

            (policia = heroina    sprayed onto a stucco
            wall in Barcelona   back-a-days, the Big Who
            sprayed me, shot me up with: What?  With What?
            “And so we all evolve alone,” or so says the
            Big Bad Who)

dark-skin old man    drops like a rock   like a rubber
bullet hits him    whoosh of gas   final-flat-wallop   
sharp ooof!   of breath    hits an old man   right above
his right   eye     throbs it   does    (probably)
a deep gash above his right eye, throbs    (probably)
drops him down, prone    (probably)    crawls, he   sure, he tries   (probably)  
toward sanctuary    at the bus stop

            (The Big Who says “my art infects your life,
            so suck it up” – that voice of The Big Who,
            all up in my head   your head  
            our head(s), together    when
            the Big Who says move it, you gotta’ go
            do it, Big Who says “Move!”  or Big Who’s
            gonna’ hurt you bad     hurt you bad                                                                                                                                         
            lay a long-time hurt-you-bad on you)

two girls     one dark-skin, too      one less-so, maybe white  
maybe not    drag the old man    dark-skin gash   above his right eye
throbs (probably)    flat knocked-out (maybe)    drag the old man onto
a bus stop bench   to sanctuary   (at Broadway & Pine)

one girl pulls off her sweater     props    his head on her sweater    for sanctuary
from the cold-cold rain     the other girl     covers him up   with her coat, covers him   
up     in the cold-cold rain    with her coat    for sanctuary    and turn, they do  
together    jump back    into Broadway    into  flash gust     deep slash    of grief   
this anger night      to fight The Cops    again  

            (“Now I see you, again,“ says the Big Who
            to me, says the Big Who, to you. 
            “Now, I see,” says the Big Bad Who,
            “but I lie a lot, too.  It’s what I do.
            I’ll see you later on, again,”
            says the Big Who to me,
            says the Big Bad Who to you.)

The Cops!  The Cops!   squads    of feet, flying    of boots     shouting, battle-bats  
gizmos of pure pain    and Big Creature will to use them     right!      in Houston  
New York City    Jakarta      Moscow     Beijing     Minsk     L.A.    Islamabad    Seattle   
D.C.    Caracas     Lagos           in Barcelona, Spain    

so what little Who would not run when The Cops say: Stop?

or what little Who, instead, juts her jaw      stares straight ahead       straight at The Cops,    
says: Bring It!

            (“ain’t no cold-cold grave
            gonna’ hold my body down,”
            “in your dreams,” says the Big Who,
            again, straight up, to the little)

or what little Who else says    no mas     says    scare me   you may –    you do   
in fact  –  but another little Who is here   to freeze   to shiver     to wait
for the big hit    in fear?    in mad resistance?    to wait for what the little Who
never wants to get     it ain’t no    gift at all     to wrangle    inside and out   
little Who with little Who   with other little Who’s  

and yet, another little Who says, yet again: “O-please don’t let my ghost survive me,
do            not” 

            (so pray, now, maybe so  
            so pray, now, for sure-O   
            so pray, now: to some kinda’ Who(m)-so-ever?
            and ever, for little Who?  for all the little
            Who’s?   but How to do it    & Why-so?)

Listen!  Listen up!     The Po-Lice make a great roar    square jaws
heavy brutal teeth     a hell-gate unto     Po-Lice beat their bats
on their shields      make a roar      no words: just big thick hard sound   
like sharp rock    cracks against     no relief, here     clean, against your head    
leaves a big fear?     or a big resistance?    up in your head      club you back – club you down    
The Cops unleash a great   tribal   roar: their boom-boom-boom cuts open   
night    and grief

            (Big Who’s gonna’ tell you,
            Big Who’s gonna’ tell you
            more, when Big Who says
            move it, you best go do it:
            “I’ll see you later, I’ll see
            ya’all, once again, you know”
            so says the Big Bad Who)

Well: So-Say-You         says that same little Who      no fear on her face    yet again       does
she do       flings it all straight back      in the face      of that same Big Who      yet again    
says she       with that same-same     no fear sneer     spread out wide    across her mouth  /
her teeth / her lips, and all      flings it back in the face      of that Big Bad Who       yet again       
does she do        yet again       

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