From Both Ends

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(Robert Rauschenberg, Untitled)

 

A mercenary

tracks her murder

to a controlled burn

tourniquet

strangling

men with AR’s

guarding

a pathological sense

of entitlement.

 

She has taken on the characteristics

of the war.

 

She hunts a corrupt, criminal

underground,

an invisible

crime scene.

 

She wears the

collateral black

violence

too few have endured.

 

She ranges a more

encrypted description

of the suspects.

 

A dying man

drones psalms

from the old country.

 

Another is waiting.

Across the Skies

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(Wikimedia.org.  Aasgaadreien_peter_nicolai_arbo_mindre.jpg (1600×1082)

I would rather lose
my faith in God,
than in humanity.

I take my son’s pulse
to know
I am still alive.

No one told me,
so I will tell you.

The violations
are premeditated.
All you know, fear,
bury, remember, keep secret
will be exhumed and broadcast
to carrion-eaters.

A ruthless,
truth at all costs,
waves its burning flag.

You will grieve a loss
like death,
a metaphysical chasm.

It stalks subconsciously,
it stalks waves and clouds.

Paranoid,
some will say,
owned,
you own nothing.

As the procession
winds its way through,
‘where is God now?’
no longer permeates.

Straight into the eye
of the devil’s herd,
through tears,
I, too, have
climbed those skies
seeking freedom amongst
charred burial grounds
with nothing,
nothing
but a broken whisper,
something resembling,
‘how could God possibly exist?’

II.

Across the skies,
a rising power.

Most atrocities-
oppression,
enslavement,
brainwashing,
mind control,
crimes and killings
against humanity-
have been done
in the name of what is
best for
‘the common good.’

They found a way in,
unnatural,
ripping,
forced entry,
where science and religion
intersect,
in the wrong hands.

The path of saints
in the wrong hands.

It has all gotten into
the wrong hands.

Violations
against humanity.

You wallow in the
stench
of a rising power
not fit for
human consumption.

I squeeze my eyes shut,
my legs closed,
I brace the doors of my mind.
I hear explosions,
there are so many,
too many.

I look over my shoulder,
they are already in.

All this time,
they are already in.

III.

At each phrase,
a gilt,
more of a warning,
it seems,
to either stay away,
or stay quiet.

Avijit Roy
wrote volumes of
free your mind.

He was murdered
with machetes
leaving a book fair.

Perhaps his murderers presumed
his death would
silence him,
silence us all
on behalf of
those beliefs and those freedoms,
that light and those visions.

Avijit Roy,
freedom fighter,
hero of peace,
we will never stop
climbing the skies
for you.