....From The Tree Of..................Pain Around Us
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_______________________________________________________ Without Pity After 911 I am white hot rage my teeth already red with what I want to bite our cities falling -falling flesh and pain surprised by death smashed through the wall. The tower topples- want to bend their bones a throne of femured fury make. Cape me in shrieks my ermine dripping, O now see how reigns my cracked up heart; burn off my breast. I need to pull the bow string, sing these bones a love of war. Pacem In Requiesquat The eyes disbelieve what they see when a skyscraper gobbles a plane, enters through, as if an electric eye had opened a door and the red plume of fire and smoke means that a thousand vaporize. The violence of the hammer as it strikes the board: the might of impact bigger, redder, more obscene. The eyes which are like prayers set in the face, are not equal to the task. They are forced to create a heaven they can send them to. In Dan Ratherland I'm going to bed the president hasn't spoken as yet but I'm going to bed this day has phased away each phase a dimmer version of the one before and building after building falls and falls and I'm alone because I want to be here typing like someone hypnotized the tv sound is off the picture slo-mo's and I see them from the side the dusty runners mouths as big as if they're catching planets maybe a better one; maybe I'll be on it when my eyes close. Author! Author! A stage setting grid of tempered steel stands against a foggy backdrop. Walking point, the firemen looking down, fade themselves to deeper spaces far from the surreal; disappear in warp of dreams where there is animation not catastrophe of rubbled lives and everywhere a hand is that a hand? Dust To Dust Nightime skyline twinkling there absurdly in its grief, the behemoth Empire State decked out in patriotic red white, blue and in the background like the steam from hell's own door the dust that never settles. What Was Born I don't know what this phosphorescent glow is in my chest it's a feeling never felt before was born watching men fall from towering ovens, watching life as I know it gone I think it lives in caves I think it will eat your young I think you call it hatred, and Mohammed? Abdul? Omar? I'm one of the nicer ones. Urinary Discouragement There used to be a little flower shivered in the light not certain she could grow at all, but watered, tended, greened she was and slowly came to trust the sun; the world seemed somehow possible. She uncurled herself at last to find that someone pissed inside the watering can. Before she died, she pointed one sharp leaf. No Return Calendar pages ripped off one by one, always there's another. We bruise each other time and again and give the space to heal, but we misjudge the damage done until there is no room, no place that pain has missed. No opening to pass it through, the hand falls on the page that is the last possible bridge before it burns. The ashes are unreadable. There is a certain purity in utterly gone. The Simple Truth There's a lot I could say about grief: how it morphs with anger, razors at the edge of both palette and brush until what comes of it is always mixed with blood that dries to black. I could talk about a place I'll never find again, a light I'll never see- like sunlight on those words that were a solstice both in coming in and going out- the heralds of a season that is past. I'll simply say this: You continue to be the biggest disappointment of my life. Discomfort Of Arms Humanity thickens like gruel, fills every orifice till I am quite drowned in it. The thought of flesh, of touch, is more than I can bear; if I stop moving then the bending, crooking arms will find another target, take their beggar's bowl and crouch outside another door. On To Page 12 .............. Return To Contents This site sponsered by 
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