poem: rally

the far night and far torches, the kept men let — out —
she made circles in the outskirts, she had debated between the optics of
skirt/pants. she finally decided on convenience; the baby was
the curve inside cargo-pants, his little fingers, china-
spindles, like under-eyelid sleep; he
turns and waits inside her, for — brave new world, his profile
is turned against the sputtering, he squeezes her
hand. the speech begins and there is silence then noise,
her stomach hurts — a pleasurable injection, a spiked
warmth, a burst. she agrees inside herself, inside
her skin, with What Is Said: freedom is just unmandated
discipline, we must adhere to ancient codes even if giving up
social capital is slung along. world-order words marched
out, their heat like breath-smoke in cold. He kisses her
in the dark pulsing pulsing — his hand is long-limbered
forests, making history up the point
of her back; they wait for the cry and the applause.