Kanye

I resist

the commodification
of the struggle to define
the self;
I am not a brand -
from where I stand,
no man, no woman,
or rock,
or bird,
or tree,
can truly see
to understand
the struggle is not in blood,
not in riches or glamorous fame,
but in language, in memory,
in the past that never was
and forever will be.

She repeated the sentence three times
To herself in the morning, stopping
On each line for emphasis,
While breakfast was served on her balcony,
The fresh squeezed orange juice
Cooler than the wind from the sea.

Before her tea at three,
To the reporter,
To the photographer,
To the publisher,
To the maid:
The long sentence in every receptive ear
Seemed to steer clear of any risk
Of meaning.

The unknown safety of not thinking
Keeps us while we sleep
With eyes wide open:
Protection from the standing rock,
The bent, old tree,
The incomprehensible
Wind from the sea.