The Hawk West Desk Window 9:42
The Moon lived with Me
for a short while
from The Time Of My Conception
to The Time Of My Death
It stood behind Me
as A Halo Of Silver
and I lived with My Shadow
where ever I went
The Hawk Family (TV) Room 5:35pm
I’ll never feel sorry for You
You Big Black Box
of detestation
yet I see My Reflection
in You
in My Purple Sweater
I compliment Your Blackness
We are the colours
of SEX
inappropriate
with You taking hold
of
Me
by
Your Little Red Alarm Signal
to open My Legs
in front
of
You
The Hawk Family Room 10:22pm
Monday Night when I sat
My Ass down
on a leather foot stool
in front of The Big Black TV
I felt a mantle
of Power
wrap around My Shoulders
I felt I could say anything
& slay with My Words
until I stood up
& turned around
to address — for the first time —
The Entity
I so disdain
I commanded His Direction
which was not forthcoming
I
SAT
RIGHT
BACK
DOWN
& folded My Arms
to
wait
but
He
failed
Me
The Hawk Family Room 7:50pm
Hey Black Box
I ain’t no Little Mermaid
Who gave Her Voice
to The Sea Witch
in exchange for a pair of legs
so She could walk
with every step agony
just to see Her Rescued Prince —
I ain’t no Fairy Tale Figure —
quit eatin’ at Me
get away from Me
You can sound like a man
but I don’t buy it —
You’re a piece of crap
shit
I’ll never be friends with you
no matter how much you sweet-talk
you can go Fuck Yourself
The Hawk Portico 9:11pm
I Am The Call
Of The Black Crow
Outside My Kitchen Deck
Insistent, Declarative
Hungry For Any Response
In The Awakening Distance
Of Our Waiting World
The Hawk West Desk Window 9:11pm
The Voice, My Voice
which emanates from
My Sordid Black Box
is The Strident Voice Of Command
laying out facts
straight on a platter
not as an offering
but with the insistence
that You take
what I dish out
not as punishment
but to quell the notion
of an ideal world
for Our World is The Real World
dark & defiant
crawling with Human Beings
The Hawk West Desk Window 8:22pm
What if I could wipe out
all religions
in one fell swoop
but leave God intact?
What is My Vision of God —
a little leprechaun
or a giant pink cloud
or, cutting through that hokiness —
is My Vision
of The Guttural Voice
— not a vision at all —
but My Voice when I speak
standing within the confines
of My Black Box?
Joanna Gilman Hyde 