(dis)possession sonnet
There are dispossessed but they do not fit
in here, no boys without documents, no
untouchable girls. No, friend, my grand wit
condemns the "Reader;" my Manifesto
denounces the "Privileged Structures" of words.
I know there are death squads, regimes, juntas,
famine, but not here. I know of bastards
who use their words as witness, count corpses,
sing of "los desaparecidos." But not
here. No. Friend, these words enslave us. Even
if my gringo's lingo was still "language,"
my outcast patois would not tell you what
befell your Displaced; we have no common
tongue to connect us, no common knowledge.