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Showing posts from October 22, 2006

This Is Not A Poem

This is not a poem.
I am waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting for peace
to break out.
Waiting for the rain
to stop.
Holding on for dear life.
Holding.
Holding.
Holding on
for Guantanamo,
for Abu Ghraib,
for God.

This is not a poem.

Sensing the time has come.
Wait.
Wait for Human Rights
waiting to fly by,
waiting for the light
to change.

I’m waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting for torture in my name.
Clear Skies,
Clean Air,
Healthy Forest,
Truthiness and Lies.
No
Tree
Left
Behind.
Arsenic and Lakes,
tapped lead,
Mountain Top
mine,
his
and
hers
mining.
This is not a poem.

I am waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting for peace to break out.
Waiting for the rain,
to conquer the oil,
the dirty air
to conquer the fear in itself
to conquer the queers
and despair
and to conquer space,
the unknown frontier,
Pre-war,
pre-9/11,
pre-earth,
pre-heaven
air.

I’m waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting on the Duct Tape
To be
cause the Levee’s busted
or not to be
Freedom's repatriation,
inactivation,
indoctrination,
d…

One Life One Skull One Bone One Moment (9/11)

One life. One skull. One bone. One moment.

Human remains… nothing to you, another collateral shard, political gain, fragment of meaningless life spiraling underground beneath the weight of thousands.

Raise thy fetid memorial, bury the unburied. Appearances… soiled callousness, numb sanctimony of one.

What if it were two or twenty?

Would the dark machines pause? Bow their heads, bent in mechanical prayer?

Rewind the tape, see a flash, a passport, a bomb, a gun, a skull, a bone, a soul sealed deep down, down, down, dead, again.


Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

'No building halt' at Ground Zero