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Black Eyes
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Drums
fire on the sea and in the tides
fire on every hill and every mountain side
and all day we hear the
singing out of the heavy heavy rhythm of war
i know the sound and smell of
gunshots gunshot
around corners i have nothing to compare you to
a tool for which i found i have no use
my years of youth end up split into twos
forget touching in homes we touch in bathrooms
back rooms and hallways all eyes and conversions
i would hope this event has no contradiction
if i could purge my tongue of all of this condescension
if only i wasn't so so so so
blood in the sea and in the tides
blood on every hill and every mountain side
and all day we fail to see the strength of
the heavy, sweet
choked hands we choose to hold
some people think that the womb
is a galaxy of bright stars
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some people think the womb is a
garden planted in the rich earth
from which to pick a bouquet
but i smell blood
and when our hands touch it has the force of
gunshots
eating off each other with
hands and mouths
i don't need any forks with my
father and my mother
coughing when we should be
laughing are we doing
whatever it is we should be doing?
walking through washington dc at night?
there are so many ways
i could finish this rhyme
how could i?
i don't even know what to think
no less what to do when i read of...
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