Wednesday, March 18, 2015


these days like black & white
pictures and all of these
pictures blurred and inarticulate

creaking staircases
and cracked windows

dirty light

find the field where the body was
buried, the one where the indians were
massacred, and lay down
your flowers

all of history is detailed
in the slow collapse of barns

all dreams in the wilderness
are dreams of decay

this girl on the carpet, carpet
soaked with blood, mother on the
far side of the room

candles on the sidewalk,
meaningless but pretty

a small atrocity, yes
but still too much

still so goddamned huge

No comments: