Air of America

Air of America.

Reflections on American air.
On Air of America.
Captured.
In and through the lens of a smartphone.

The shape of a glassy dome, reflective dome.
But not enclosing, not closed, but constantly streaming.
The shape of Air.
Of America.
Between the tool of a witness and that of a surveillance investigator.
Air formed.
In response to,
“I can’t breathe”.
Given shape by six years of recorded American nightmare.

Instead of an ampule, of a souvenir,
(that of Air of Paris),
a consequential tool in our hands.

Air is struggled for,
the neutrality of air is
gone.

Air of America.
Heavy with what a lens can capture, and pass on,
through its fine mechanisms, compiling evidence against brutality.
Like the air, interrupted, in Eric Garner’s throat,
registered by the phone camera of Ramsey Orta.

It’s too much.

Pictures carried by light.
Inscribed and distributed, past the lens.

It’s the same warm air.
Inhale.
Exhale.
An absence of air.
An interruption,
of breath and breathing,
and of a song.

On looking.
On seeing, without averting one’s face.
One’s eyes.

Air of America.
Stories of current uprising,
streaming through cameras pointed at death.

Inhale.
Exhale.
Find the shape for the air given as justice,
as rescue.
As justice delivered, to one that could not breathe.

The glass eye of a camera.
the rapid stream of broadcast.
Video images, delivering the truth,
and the verdict.

Air of America.