Sunday, December 13, 2009

Come and See

The withdrawal of those
Guns and eyes never fair
A single one the sun
Not shining on us here
No one lucky enough
No dirt brave enough
To tuck us in
Speak our names a photography
Worn thin with history
A kind of stench our stories leak
A kind of lack our eyes want
When meaning won’t
Be strained.

The starlight on their eyes
It is sometimes
And we are them
Disastered because our voices
Muffle in the din
Of voices given up control
Of what they mean
Bogged down by the dead
And having seen
And not heard
Too much where we wake
We supposedly wake.

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