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A Friday poem. We’ve been busy today, recovering from the week and cleaning the house, and generally getting in the family feels.

I’ve got Gaza on the brainspace tonight, and I hope you do also. I’m going to poem about that tonight.

The Conflict

The conflict, the conflict, the conflict for long, long years and eras, this is only one of the biggest.  Here we are again, a country with a smooth, hard heat, pretending support with its indifference between the briefest massacres, here is our country buoying the cities of disorder. These nations that look to us should look away, unbroken looks that string us along in the illusion that the Earth is mountains in some blue broken bulb, just look, look away.

Here we are again, a country with loud ideas and criminal money, and enough hypocrisy to fill this big jar, here we are again, telling it loud and with lanterns, loud, loud and with lanterns, loud, loud, loud in ballistics, loud in the concrete crumbling,

Big bows to the origin, big bows and gestures and fronts and rhetoric, rockets and dead babies and rockets and concrete and earth and sand, let’s not bow to that, let’s not chase those voices jabbing at violence, the ones who tell us to every minute hate and loud and vitriol and consume, where is the Reader to gather behind, where is the teacher, where is the bright Gorgon to lead us out of this blank desert, now right now she must be buried in the waste of our talk and waste, our talk and,

talk and talk and talk and talk and

bomb.

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So, sometimes I get political in my poems. These are peace poems, ideally, but right now I just have to poem it straight. I can’t even put a picture with it, because the are all horrific. It’s Friday, poemies.

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