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