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.
