Bonafide Rojas
JOHN PABLO ROJAS IS A COMET CRASHING OUT THE SKY
JOHN PABLO ROJAS IS A COMET CRASHING OUT THE SKY
among the dead flock of birds, shaped in v formation at grand army plaza, atop of the weeds in the concrete, in the text messages, in the south south bronx, beneath the streets, beneath woodlawn cemetery, beneath the pigeons, beneath the sky scraping towers of capitalism, he came crashing out the sky
farther down, among forgotten demigods, formally elected officials & washed up rookie baseball players, staring into the black, beyond street & block, beyond bridge & river, beyond fire & time, beyond the borough & island, beyond religious purification, beyond cause & effect
over genocide & gang banging, corruption & city officials, consumption & consumerism, under developed communities, malnourished imaginations, corporate gentrification versus community salvation
next to the safe deposit banks of safety depending pockets of the poor, next to the dilapidated condos of their tiny dreams, the trust funded education, the greed dripping from their mouths
everyone is trying to leave their immortality in our mouths, inside a centrally parked cemetery in the middle of skulls, among the activists with blindfolds on
in the man made cities in the skies, with their man made titles of world domination, they chop our hands off, they chop our heads off, they buy our body parts think everything is for sale
in the packed streets of times sq., in rush hour traffic, in the corrupt police precincts, in the overcrowded jails, in the racist white american court system
with the organizers, the activists, the drummers, the poets, the painters, the dancers, the rioters, the musicians, the migration, the lawyers, the straphangers, the running lost, the mothers of dead children, the orphaned children
the wind from the gulf of mexico, reminded us of the memory of south america, you’ll see these dragons made of clouds, you’ll see these ships with names of dead generals & we're supposed to be happy when they say they come in peace, the ocean is dead still
all that we carry is a empty briefcase for possibility, with our hearts, our fears, we stare at the stars, count the planets, the universe smiles at us, we see the moon being master & servant, we see the sea serpents, the six blackhawks looking like shadows & then
he crashed out the sky, with nothing, no name, no breath, no voice, naked, hoping to come home to a better world & when he arrived
he was so beautiful.