Apr 25, 2007

God: As with Pigeons, They Avoid Us

What shall we do with the bodies,
all bleach all mud all smeared
in blood? Do we burn, lit aegis-like
their skin, so that black come,
ash come, and effluvium? Isn't
the fire too perceptible? A mark
as to say: here, bind hard our hands?
If we wash only and throw their bodies
into water, would traces be traceable?
Traces leads to cops. Bad guys.
It's always the same: the same hunt,
the same end: no trial, no listening to what we say.
As with pigeons, there's only ignorance.
Yes: our hands have killed and killed.
But here, in my palm, can you see
what I see: can you see that blood?
What we have done, we have suffered.
Isn't that enough?

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