-he can’t breathe but I can’t sleep-

a George Floyd requiem

I know now

what I should've known all along

that a grown man’s knee pressed
hard

upon a grown man’s neck does
murder
to the man who has the neck––

that the guy who has the knee

has the weight of himself
transferred to the knee,
transported to the neck––

that the knee
has the weight of two grown men.

attached to the neck is the head which

cannot move.
there's a pavement pressed to the other
cheek.

head has a mouth; it whispers: mama...

there's a frothing at the lips.

street-scene's in the gutter,
the scene seen on television
running on a terrible
loop.

in the evening across the street

it's that late night yapper
again.

dog, tv,
neck, knee.

dog, tv,
neck, knee.
say his name.
his name is breathless man.

he can’t breathe but I can’t sleep.


5/25/20