Where do you get your ideas?
In that midnight garden where poetic mysteries grow
the deeper you dig, the bloodier the soil. Take off your shoes,
this is sacred ground—dig deep or go home.
Graveyards of Our Glory
|_|by the West Bank Wall
the playgrounds are littered
with intifada toys.
Where once was genocide
Now, in old town square, a child
plays with a toy gun.
The Inconvenient Truth is Out There
I don’t know what I’m doing in Podgorica but
if the alien body snatchers get me it
is comforting to know my replicated pod replacement
won’t either.
Vessel of Opportunity, Object of Value
Your eyes are the color of chlorine and broken glass,
she says in a sigh—her breath like an altar
sagging with the weight of fallen grace.
~•~
