ACT 1 SCENE 1
A tornado stirs the sun-bitten soil,
Soon, the townsfolk derange and coil. Young lady
Dorothy, her terrier Toto, Trapped by the
neighbor’s whispering tornado. The sky starts to
swirl; the seething wind nears. They tremble,
homes tremble, a tremble severe. The house then
bows; the sky’s chandelier. Aloft and off to a
land revered.
ACT 2 SCENE 1
off-kiltered arabesque
into a waltz
stained with leftover
booze, dorothy wages
war against her own
equilibrium.
her home, vomitus, ejects
her footing, sanguis, buries.
ACT 2 SCENE 2
fitting just right, naked
slippers squelch crimson
up a yellow brick road;
every brick, decrepit, every
crevasse clawing at, swallowing
whole. toto, poor dog had
suffered from the storm.
the old mutt was wound
shut beneath dorothy’s
armoire. legs dislocated,
as taint white, knees
searching the sun beaten
path: iatrogenic,
anesthetic,
yellow brick.
ACT 2 SCENE 3
The wonderful wizard of
America.
ACT 3 SCENE 1
Throw water on an old
woman and she disappears.
The constant clamor of Lenox
Avenue drowning noise. She
stands on the corner,
where 125th swings
back and forth with
the drum of car soot
chatter. The old woman was off
her meter. Using bravado to
provocate; a chorus of winged
primates, crying for a cease,
because she was loud, angry,
derelict. And her skin far too
green. This woman had
weaponized reparations into
wands and dark magic, that
kind you see in Oz. Wretched
to the dried cells of her being,
that witch, that wicked
witch of Central Harlem,
she shut right up and melted
when you poured out your flask
of sojourn and colonize, your flask of accidental genocide
your flask of black of white
that turned of color because
Dorothy Gale knew knothing kneighborly
about the underrepresented
with of America,
until she built a house
on her sister,
and stole her red shoes.
