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The Hand

A gnarled hand of stone reaches up out of the field, grasping the clear blue sky above the roof of the old place.

Someone has parked a building, from a city long ago, across the way from the neighbors; twin ghosts peer out of dusty windows. 1902 suits and ties that look like nooses as black men wave from tenement rooftops to white boys in the fields below. “Holler back if you can hear us!”

This dirty building, dusty, dank–covered in soot and years– does not belong here, but time has doubled over into a knot. Who are these daguerreotype faces, who these dusky smiles, that make decades vanish with flutter of waving fingers? The boys do not know the answer to this but outside in back of the house an airplane star bolt shoots in heavenly splendor. “Can’t you hear it buzz?” asks one but the light betrays the origin from many galaxies away, as neighbor kids chase airborne red disc down.

(hopscotch sidewalk)

A solid rectangle of infrared shoots down the neighborhood, feeling faces that are being scanned to learn the measure of time. And no wonder the past vomits up a present for the future…

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from Curtains: Readings from Molotov by Tom Baker, released November 9, 2019

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Extreme Volume Pop Indiana

Hopefully, my various musics are ultimately like magic bullets that enter and impact at the base of the skull, ricochet around the brain chamber, and then leave a gaping exit wound in the forehead. You may hate them


Since 2006!

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