by inkwell2

Dr. Cornel West’s fiery truth saturated the contours of our doubtful and duplicitous culture. The words that surged and spun made us squirm and hope. We exchanged embraces. I spoke with him, intersecting at the art of muckraking.

“Never forget that justice is what love looks like in public.”

We danced humbly to the moving, pounding poetry of Patti Smith.  My son stood at my side as I bestowed upon him those sacred words whose meanings breathe new life. Art and song and sound form shadows and figures on bedroom walls and highway barricades. She swayed in ragged time and thought; we shouted and grieved.

“From the meek the graces shower, It’s decreed the people rule.”

My hands stretched to Springsteen over seas of burdened shoulders and begging souls.  His eyes told me that if I kept my arms out just a bit longer, he could touch my fingertips. He did. Verses of life caught up in universal threads of love and survival drown out the harsh vision of our near suffocation.

“Well the night’s busting open, these two lanes will take us anywhere”

Throngs of hearts, synced, change me.