Found Poem II – Endangered Species
‘He and the other lawyers think it’s a joke that the iguanas at Guantanamo Bay, which are protected by the U.S. Endangered Species Act, have more rights than the detainees.’
— My Guantanamo Diary, Mahvish Khan, washingtonpost.com
it is unlawful for any person
subject to the jurisdiction of the united states
to import any such species
or export any such species
from the united states
take any such species
within the united states or the territorial sea
of the united states
take any such species
upon the high seas
possess sell deliver carry transport or ship
any taken in violation
deliver receive carry transport or ship
by any means whatsoever
any such species
or violate any regulation
pertaining to such species
or to any threatened species
with respect
it is unlawful for any person
to remove & reduce to possession
in knowing violation
of any law or regulation of any state
or in the course of any violation
of this great nation
of this great nation
Note:
words but not music by the US Endangered Species Act
Rimbaud and Verlaine in Camden Town
what days we had
never thinking on nights
the way the wind blew up the river
or down as the case may be
that bitter rain in Lyme Street
trying to start a flame
in the humble shelter of a doorway
when the madam came out to complain
the dogs of the street knew us
they licked our sores
we made our bargain with the furies
we heard them sing
and we agreed a price
taking our pleasure as it came
and in the nature of things
the price must be paid
despair is our victory now
that winter you found a wolf
hiding in the ladies
he spat blood
you gave him everything
he came prepared
to be your dream wolf
he slept between us
like the future
smelling of wet dog
smelling of blood
and who knows what else
in the long nights he was love
we may have lost our way
that winter you found a wolf
in July you told me the truth
it was a bullet in my left hand
and I knew what would befall us then
and I knew what would befall us then
you are a child crying in the street
a dove on the black winding river
a nestling on a ledge
for whom falling is flying
a sign warning of a dangerous bridge
and the crazy flood
and a drowned cellar
the noises you make in despair
are the noises of the subterranean stream
and your silence
is the silence of the stalking dog
