Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Saturday, February 02, 2013

How are things in DC?

when a gun is pointed directly at your head
you might appeal to the wielder's reason
or speak of decency, of compassion
you might connect with a fellow traveler
and save two lives, yours and the would-be shooter
so there is a chance
a chance, slim or fat is better than no chance at all
a chance to not be shot

But when the gun has been fired
there is no word yet imagined
that bends bullets away from where they were aimed
no appeal to humanity that can deflect the hot metal
the flesh-ripper, the flesh-eater, the flesh-killer
no poetry or vaulting prose will stop it
no freeze-frame to abide inside
just speed and thrust and death

in Congress, words are harvested by interns
who mop up the excess phrases
or sweep into cans the shreds of rhetoric
these are recycled, we'll hear them again

ah, but words about guns are placed in actual guns
these guns are fired at ideas to save us from ourselves
these guns are fired
until every last thought
is dead



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