The News

The air’s as fresh as a morning

when mushrooms bloom after rain.

Darkness expands to include the moon. They lower me

down and I am bound by the lies I told and

the things I stole from the ones who loved me.

My mouth is stuffed with black velvet. I don’t care.

It is as quiet and still as the bronze bell hanging

in the village church, ropes gone, congregation gone

home to google the news on yahoo.

In a Basra garage, men prep a chlorine tanker to drive

into a school crammed with the wonder of children.

While in the Pentagon, Joint Chiefs solicit bids for new

wars for peace. I hit bottom with a bump. The shaft

above me fills with dirt flying off shovels bright as armor.

I don’t care. I don’t care at all except I find

I still want to dazzle you, my old flame.