Two poems by Kyle Allan

Poem 27

where does
our name lie

++++like a country
++++on its side
++++breathing or sleeping
++++sometimes
++++dead

where does
our identity fall

++++like leaves
++++from the trees
++++very dry

where does our culture get
so stiff

++++like the statue
++++of the hero
++++in the main street
++++at 11:45 pm
++++watching people
++++walk by
++++before
++++the murder

where does
our social justice breathe

++++beyond language
++++and identity

where does
our art live

++++in your eyes
++++setting no one free

where does
our originality come from

++++sexualised
++++like capitalism
++++and god
++++and mass produced shoes

where does
our dream live

++++in the children
++++fast asleep

when does
our time come

++++in this moment
++++and
+++++++++never again

Poem 3

your hands
tired hands
unfasten the dawn

your eyes
slow curtains
fold the wet mist

your skin
last wall between nations
takes away my name

your body
last ideology of the day
closes the room till tomorrow

your clothes
lie on the floor
where gravity lives

your sleep
where forgetfulness returns
and children play in your dreams

your feet
drifting away like boats
trying to swallow dawn’s sun

your eyes
where you make believe
to be yourself

your face
where you are already
someone else

your lips
where you copy and shout
the language of asteroids to your mirrors

your mouth
repeating our footsteps like folktales
talking of insurrections on the beaches

your empty pockets
instructions and intersections of bankrupt revolutions
where love is born

your love
where no one
is owned

your life
where death is a door
our skins will pass together

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