Saturday, February 10, 2018


needles through his eyes, this
lover of yours standing blind in the
early morning sunlight



an eternity of godlike mistakes
just to equal one short life

let the dead man swing from the end of
his rope, but at least change the
goddamn record

at least acknowledge the
angels on their hands and knees in
that last perfect summer

the basic truth that all relationships
are power struggles and
fuck the ones who refuse to see
god as a clenched fist

dream of animals tearing the
throats out of laughing children

of soldiers setting fire
to sleeping villages

see all points of view

the passing days both
mundane and surreal

your lover with his tongue cut out,
                 with his wife
                           his children
                           his useless politics

shows you exactly where the
circle begins and where it ends

tells you the exact price of hope
and, when you call him a liar,
he turns away

when the last of the refugees are
herded into the camp,
the guards all open fire

we are nothing if not slaves to
the idea of victory

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