Showing posts from February 14, 2010

Invisible Canopy

-National Alliance to End Homelessness- -National Coalition for Homeless Vets-

They lay upon the streets
choking on their own.
Mounds of people
desolate in their being.


And breathe in again.
Kicked in the gut,
split like lumber.
This is a home.
Animals have a home.


And breathe in again.
Boxes propped up in the rain.
Empty cans rot.
Feeding is done.
Could they have hunger?
Is it ours that they’re hungry?


And breathe in again.
Displaced assassination.
Soul tainted by remark.
Hold. The starving soul echoes back
and lives in our queried gaze.
Is this anyone’s “life”?


And breathe in again.
Shoes leaking dirt on new snow.
Fingers hold paper canopy
encasing country’s dishonor.
This is not a life, is it?
I think it is best to live.


And breathe in again.
Perhaps the hand will move.
Will hope spring?
Will death take notice of this?
Will the good in man change them?
Will our naked shame bow softly?
Will we course this toward nurturing?
Will the hope of man succumb to…


Clinton: Iran Could Trigger Nuclear Arms Race=Obama unveils nuclear power plan
Afghan civilians killed in fighting
And who are they, living within this land, all this time among the kingdom’s shadow, veiling themselves beneath God and sand, trembling, waiting under flesh and bone.

Afghanistan missile 'hit target'
Again, who are these targets? Laughter, I’m sure, was brimming, moving across their fleshy lips, pursed upon the moment of impact.

Marines in Afghan Assault Grapple With Civilian Deaths
We always struggle more with deaths that aren’t our own, it’s why dust eventually covers all things, it lessens the sheen of sadness.

© 2010 by mark prime


O! In these times, this infant land, in our sour belly, the warriors of old and new are dying to the filthy refrain of war, war, war, war, war…

Those that came before breathed toward a fresher world, a sea green life in a globe drearier than this, yet we have cultivated the flavor of battle without actually pulling the joyful trigger, distanced ourselves from the entry wound, taken leave of the truth behind a looming void, ate of it so that we've dulled the senses. We've lost the will to foretaste and now stand agape outside our pleading hope with no tools to dig our way to her, is this what we want of our love, suffocation?

O! In these times, this infant land, in our sour belly, the warriors of old and new are dying to the filthy refrain of war, war, war, war, war...

A stranger at the door, it is we, wringing our flesh of war…

Might we tunnel forth to rescue her? Will the world lend us its many shovels?

© 2007 mark prime


Pa. Police Mum on Motive in Disabled Woman's Death
Bombs Slow Big Afghanistan Advance
O History! Tell us why we’re so red-faced of shrieking, help us understand where it is we’re going, who it is we’re inviting to ignite our misery, begin to tell us why it is that we’re the prey and not the hunter?

Bombs target political party sites in Baghdad
The breath, that of a black toothed whore, the noise, that of a kingdom’s exactness, the innocent names painted across the sky... carve them to memory.

Afghan operation enters second day
On the sand scraped ground, you are waiting along the chattering roadside, unhappy you've been wrestled from sleep, forced, yet again, to rumble the heavens with your most lethal weapon, grief.

© 2010 by mark prime