CONFESSION ZERO

-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. Wait. And breathe in again. Kicked in the gut, split like lumber. This is a home. Animals have a home. Wait. 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? Wait. 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”? Wait. 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. Wait. 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 co...

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

US imposes new sanctions on Iran The weather’s beginning to move again like a scolded child unsure of what’s next. The icy rebuke might be the last of it, unless the forecast breathes of thunder… after that, no child will be safe. Security Guards Look on as Teen Is Beaten We do not witness ourselves lifting a hand to come crashing down upon an innocent and within this vision we’re trapped, of no use. Living inside this dream, a sort of emptiness, an opposing sun, the adversary of light. Iran warns against expected anti-government protests They walk on feet made of hope, shoulders unstooped by any cruel weight, hands moving through the air like a kite, at times almost motionless, the next, unexpectedly soaring. Arctic Ice Melting About 4 Times as Fast as Predicted They talk within us, speaking the language of wolves, interpreters of the ice and wind standing on the top of the moon, reaching down toward our famine. Sarah Palin calls global warming studies ‘snake oil science...

The bitter dust of winter delivers her speech leaving a feeble shell over a once vaulted honor. She prattles from the arctic basin as my hands move over my disbelief, how can this pale ghost, with her invalid procession, consume expectation like a feral beast? O! We’ll greet her breathless yelping with sideways glances kept for fools and open the gates to her weather, her misbegotten storm winking deep within our better selves. She drinks our tidal melancholy left beneath our plodding steps, sadness felled of our waiting, drifts to a pitiable weight. The bitter dust of winter will pitch us into uncertain folly, statesmen will lather the tempest as she strokes them in madness. © 2010 by mark prime

As in the silver waters the thinkingbridge of man still fancies peace Palestinian mothers known to the spoils of blood yearn for quietude, Angry black women still waiting to be heard pray in harmony and the men who love men of inequity embrace serenity As in expectant woman carrying the weight of love the fate of peace And we who read now with sky-blue hope have eyes for dreaming and in our course we liberate more than the weeping skies... © 2010 by mark prime Blog Amnesty Day