and i'm sorry for
the idea of prophecy
i understand the need
to burn witches
the need to bury the butchered
in the bitter soil on the
outskirts of juarez
mothers and daughters found
barefoot and beaten
found naked and strangled
and the magic run dry from their crosses
and in the end
it doesn't matter whether or not
you believe in war
in the end
no one cares if you're beautiful
the room of mirrors is in
the burning house
every road leads to the
president's grave
and it's true that
some men deserve to die
more than others and
it's true that all poetry is an
act of cowardice
look at pollock
look at the horses starving on
the outskirts of
the town you live in
all you need to understand
is that nothing
ever really defeats hatred
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