Sunday, April 15, 2012


                                                                  The heart of another is a dark forest.
Photo of scalp hung by one nail.
Mud-smeared window of a cold house.
Some man's family crowding together.
Earth confronts its losses.
Men kill. Men die. Men
always. I know. I am one. I kill you.
I hang your head by the long braid
you spend hours preparing for me.
It's the gun, honey, throw it
on the ice. The West's temptation
to kill what can't be understood
quickly. Children play
the dark forest mystery.
Sharp crack, then silence.
I have nothing to say. The sand blows:
I love my mother, I hate my father,
I shield his eyes to soothe her nerves.
To get the news listen to the floor
where the valley rises into mountains.
Bright stars blind the moon.
Undo your braid so it falls
over your shoulders.
I want to love you.
How many times . . .
Nothing flows but the lovers' run,
long leap. Waterfall. Kill your children.
I have no peace. Kill me.
Let's make war, starve our enemies.
It may be a game but someone will lose.
Photo out of frame, away from the light.
A little history to forget
how conquest feels.
Go home.

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