Wednesday, April 08, 2009


Put your hands in the air
Guilty as charged
A name must deserve
Its identification with the dead

No pronouns any more
Just the helplessness of being
Gestures you were searching for

On the forest floor
In the pastoral that was
Never ours
To claim as true or burn

Someone fires a flare
And it was as if we were
Not here watching
The world in its emergency

This is all the despair
One needs to cease
In systems they didn’t make

But cannot undo yet
The bridges the borders the
Bodies that we are do not

Constitute a crisis
It is this economy this
Everyday finality
Which constitutes a crisis.

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