The history of revolutions is the history of vague ideas,
Shrugging shoulders, not shrugging shoulders,
Standing around, acting without thinking,
Acting with thinking, being penned or penning,
Being a woman or a girl standing around,
A woman or a girl with some flour in her pocket
for tossing up a cloud of flour
to obscure the martial men's sight.
That white cloud of whatever
Among the moving and unmoving bodies
Is that history-like unhistory
of the ahistorical average,
That lovely inexact and provisional something—
weaponized or never.
How totally under-theorized is breathing,
Walking and not walking,
Wanting to have a good time or just having it,
Like everybody is gunning toward Eden
and nobody is in school with their bodies anymore.
The history of revolutions is a history of the orthodox
weeping over their faltering
Any precise thing—dumb these days:
The very idea imprinting nothing
on the air between the general buildings.
No human space—a printer's paper.
|Copyright © 2011 by Anne Boyer. Used with permission of the author.|