N  a  p a  l  m     H  e  a  l  t  h     S  p  a  :     R  e  p  o  r  t     2  0  1  1

MAX WOLF VALERIO

The Prophets on Motorcycles

we can remember         the passionate

laws     handed down in fire         from the fathers with the flaming

horns on their foreheads     the women with ashes smeared on their throats

the time when two directions ran in one place towards the same

destination

with white feathers and music         on the road to heaven

on the road towards the black roses bunched         up and knotted

over the door to the bar         the back alley glory         it’s ––

all 7-Eleven         all music     and fear

painted on the canvas                 red and warm

in the dark         arena         Disbelief

in heaven.

–– with heaven

I disbelieve.

I am walking in the darkened part

of this road to where people are crying

to each other that they remember     the signs     gaudy and textured

with     neon and hot colors         the signs     the prophets brought down

with     flames and webbed fingers         slender tongues pointing at the wheels

of their     bikes                     and the big houses that slid down

their ears         the houses on fire

silvery with         arson         arson

colors our eyes         red points flashing intersections

sweating metal         spirals from car alarms     parallel     to the lines of

motorcycles             and the prophets riding

with the fire             braided up

Oct. 12 – 1993