From Manhattansand....
What are cold naked swallows doing here?
I say, but my throat don't,
Featherless driftwood
Of this Iraq War. Birdskin.
Child flesh embedded in mother skin
The transplanted invasives,
paper thin
Sunday supplements,
mortuary streets,
rosewater.
Before I was nothing,
your head was
Going down and pulling stains
From Damascus unprepared, unfolded,
playgrounds of a wooden
automation.
They will be forgiven
after they are
forgotten.
Abu Graib body
unfucked and folded,
served with
maggots and celebration
at a State Dinner every September.
What death fertilizes your
Anniversary impulse this Tuesday?
Sybil, a miniature of faith
And DNA that defiles this
Hollow earth.
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