CONFESSION ZERO

Sovereignty. Cradle. Twin Rivers. 2002. That was the then, patriot. Bursts of flesh, groan of empire, now. This, the sun's testimony, script. A country’s story. Broken land. O! Terminate her now, dear patriot! Sands scrape ahead of winter, brittle are her arid bones. Split. Over ripe. Dithering. Bent. Pierce the center, the hidden heart. O! Blood and child! Now’s the time to grieve, patriot. Toss tears to wind and soil as souls drift by in wooden boxes. © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman

The looming shadow holds her every thought from her signature. She remembers as a child she seemed to be without fear in the hollow imaginings of nightfall, she was braver when she put her tongue to his and they fell together. (Love became tired and mean and loud and put a fist inside her smile.) She convinces herself to lie still, to not make a sound, and she does, like a game of charades without gestures. The shadow keeps growing, rising like the pain of seeing a loved one suffer, waiting on the moon to reveal the fog, waiting on the rock to uncover the cause, the shadow to pay a visit, to bring fresh bread and bandages and maybe the pieces of herself. © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman