charles’ death
should have been international news
a pebble in a rich man’s shoe
should have been a channel
dedicated to decay and decadence
should have been a whence of pain
in the president’s step
a stammer in his address
a stalemated interstate
an irregular stutter in neon
a button the meticulous forget
charles’ death should have been a loss of breath
in the collective city
a hem at half mass on sistuh so and so’s dress
a dull ache in the hustler’s chest
the tiny truth preachers profess
it should have been a little mess the custodians
leave in defiance of the oblivious world
should have been an understated caress
from the patient waitress
or the first step of a southerner heading west
charles’ death should have been a
reflective moment in the lives of the careless
wilshire blvd. all its traffic lights red
or a bandana around the homeless man’s head
should have been the first thing the neighbors said
this morning before their coffee and grievances
before they read the newspaper
should have been a cold spot in their beds
or the article of clothing the stripper refused to shed
charles’ death should have been an engine refusing to go
or the violent night some folks will never know
asthmatic rivers unable to flow
wetlands abandoned and low
tugboats in still water
letting ships stand refusing them tow
vacant track houses in a dark row
los angeles traffic heating at dusk
should have been something very very slow
mute moving across the horizon
a carnival closing the show
and the first fall of black snow
in the last winter of our urban memories
