Tuesday, June 22, 2021

Tuesday poem #429 : David Buuck : Curfew and Far Between



Night in the city
is now owned
by the police

the cover charge
is our obedience
til day breaks &

real estate realism
resumes its crime-
data-mining /

the risk-assessers
crafting riot
insurance policies

hedge funding
the counter
revolution as

the porch pirates
expand the gift
economy at the pot-

latch down at the
sideshow / I watched
the helicopter feed

the Oakland docks
lit and lit up,
surrounded by cops

called in from the
suburbs to kettle
the protest downtown

trick’d out donuts,
burnt trash cans
vs. burnt rubber.


Inside a para-
tactical multitude
not all things

aside one another

touch — or are
touched, but perhaps
in those epic gaps

some spark alights

forged in disparate
elements, newly
charged by heat

of purpose and

in common fre-
quencies that

resonate through

idioms across
the shattered



To under
stand space
as a given


by the eye
of the police

or landlord

thus becoming
territory —

by bodies

in negation
of that ideal

they call civic

harmony —
instead a
confluence of


resonance /
each shield
a mobile


each placard
a shield
against the


of batons
each splinter
a glitch

in time’s gap

the clock
and the count-

er rhythms

of revolt. Be
like water,
the sigil read,

spray painted

on the trash
bin, a barricade
made of ballot

boxes lights it up—




David Buuck lives in Oakland, CA. He is the co-founder and editor of Tripwire, a journal of poetics (tripwirejournal.com), and founder of BARGE, the Bay Area Research Group in Enviro-aesthetics. Recent books include The Riotous Outside (Commune Editions, 2018), Noise in the Face of (Roof Books 2016), SITE CITE CITY (Futurepoem, 2015) and An Army of Lovers, co-written with Juliana Spahr (City Lights, 2013). He teaches at Mills College, where he is the chief steward of the adjunct faculty union, and at San Quentin's Prison University Program.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

No comments: