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  • September 2006
    M T W T F S S
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Sharing Words

They do not speak his language —
He rolls out his speech
For his ideas to recline on
But the repose is uncomfortable:
A picket fence walks to the horizon
Dividing him and their perception —
He has inherited the legacy of Babel.

It no longer towers,
Sunk in the foundations of misunderstanding,
Only a home of ignorance is built.

Conflict cooks on the fire,
The hungry military mouths wait —
The aggressive minds are moths to moonlight,
Offensives are built up out of the map.

All the roads are blocked
And barricades erected,
And purposes set in the concrete of belief,
Spirits are steeled for war,
The magazines are loaded and clipped,
The fuses cut and the bombs placed:
This universal language has no barriers,
It crumbles them —
This is deconstruction of difference:
The similarity of death,
They speak this language.

The thunder of words invades heads,
Bodies are laid out
And bags for the bodies to recline in,
The repose is not uncomfortable
For they are past comfort —
So are the flowing eyes
Reading the telegram,
Sharing words in the tongue of mourning.


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