Poetry by Opalina Salas

Body Politics

You say that you’re not into



I’ve wandered in your cannabis haze now for days

while outside the fires were burning

the trees were bending and the levees were breaking.

I walk

over the concrete slabs of progress

where the air turns thick with sludge and disapointment.

At night I wait for the

sing out cold pale moon to

swing out soon and

bring the night and its closed eyes relief

nodding heads and starry reprise

these nights in the city with its bastard life

i love the poets, whose bodies won’t stand for the silence anymore,

it may not be def poetry jam


the ft worth slam,

but it’s something BIG

when our words grow legs and march on.

Severed drink whisky shaky hands

dropping half smoked joints down the sewers,

clenched fists

wrestling words out of brown paper bags,

choking slender glass necks of their truth serum.

our sidewalk shimmers with broken shards and hope.

and our instructions come in unfiltered sonic jazz

in an Ode to Joy of anger that comes sweet

from her pursed lips.

Outside the world grinds,

Rolling, destroying Machines fed by


it’s bloodied footsteps disappearing and before

we can mourn

we take a commercial break,

get another snickers,

it really satisfies

wash it down

with a pepsi

its the new generation..

huh? my generation is bought and sold with

phoney slogans.

our kids know who Ronald Mc Donald is

before they can count to ten.

Hamburgers are politics.

And they fill our temples with stinking

rotting death.

Hamburgers are politics

Feeding cows corn till their intestines burst

Feeding cows corn till the skies crumble with methane pollution

Feeding children beef till their bodies fill with toxins, grow obese and insulin resistant

so they become another cash cow for the insurance companies

Is politics..

I admit it,

I drink alcohol

and smoke marijuana any chance I get

to cleanse my soul of all this bullshit politics

to clean off the blatant lies.

TV may work for some,

but not for us,

cause we have the deepest knowledge

of the bodies..

the bodies laying on the desert rocks

the bodies laying in flag draped coffins

the bodies laying emaciated on the streets of your ‘rich cities’

the bodies laying dying in the ghettos, the barrios..

the bodies laying in the emergency wards

dieing for free

dieing for free

thats politics

thats politics…

and all thesmart revolutionary minds

thier bodies laying in a prozac coma.

thats politics.

but my body

my body

doesnt sleep..

just meditates on the points

of where

our bodies meet the spirit/meets the sky.

my body twists inside the cannabis haze

my body twists against your eyes of poetry flames,

my body twists, healing you, reaching you,

We understand that as humans

we need our bodies

to touch again

we need our bodies

to warm like carmel skin

we need our bodies

they’re bodies..

to make our own bodies better for them

a temple

a rebel

a flower

skin sweating to sweating skin tonight


the ballerina pirouettes in half time

she sways i sway and the swirve shows the way

inside our cocoon

i promise the sing out cold pale moon to

swing out soon

but you’re not into politics,

and you never even vote.

and you cant talk about fucking

or get naked

or smoke a bong with me

in my own house,

and we can’t have a meaningful conversation

about your body

and my body,

and the only

greys anatomy you know

is the TV show

and you don’t understand that all of these


these holy midnight creatures

make me want to get




with you.


2 responses to “Poetry by Opalina Salas

  1. She said it, we know it, what’s the hold up?

  2. Uh…wow! I tell you what, there’s something about hearing a piece and then reading a piece that really brings it all home. Awesome poem Opalina. Magnifico!

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