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over and over always turning away
just as you think you have grasped it at last.
Free Account
Created on 2011-12-21 12:05:51 (#1155798), last updated 2021-11-02 (181 weeks ago)
236 comments received, 1,475 comments posted
18 Journal Entries, 6 Tags, 1 Memory, 84 Icons Uploaded
| Name: | a bag of broken glass. |
|---|---|
| Website: | art. |
 C A L E B W I D O G A S T | My white heart sits at a distance from itself hearing the news, murder on murder, starlings dropped from an iron sky, harbingers of no war I want to consider but this is the alphabet of death: a glyph, boy in frieze. His sister, handcuffed mid-keen and tossed. Unholstered men considering a body. What matters? Organ music in the distance. Greek chorus protests tragedy, tragedy, tragedy, tragedy, tragedy, tragedy, tragedy. Blood for real though. Every uniform’s a costume which is a clever way of saying I am not a murderer, though my skin is. Until there was a word for blue humans could not see it. Not to blame language but let’s admit we can’t hate what we can’t name. Man, playground, gun, waist band. Boy, swing set, imagin- ation. Heart at a distance from itself. Sky turning iron, storm blue. Without a stage, tragedy is news. Blood for real. Guns and a sky so black with starlings it could pass for sorrow’s army’s proving ground. Circling, their eyes, though we can’t see them, seeing red. — marty mcconnell |
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