power
yrself buried beneath
the afternoon skybeneath the shimmering trees
and the shadows of wordsthe hills
where they've been worn awaythe broken mirror in the
back yard next doorshards of glass reflecting
empty space
and the wind hot and mindlessthe water poisoned
and the soil
and the children want to play
and they have to drink
and there is no purer form of gambling
than with the lives of the
people you lovethere are no apologies from
the men who dumped the chemicalsno sounds at all but the screams
of young girls raped by soldiers
in countries not worth mentioning
and so no one doesthere is nothing less american
than a war with no profits
waiting to be madethere is no greater machine
than the governmenthow should we begin
destroying it?
