Sunday, December 30, 2007

here/there

between the fingers
crashing into the places
that are most virgin

white and pure, quiet
nothing is heard around me
not the cry of those
who might not see it
all they might hear is bloody
and rare and broken

silence here and there
echoes of the dark affaires
the world breaks apart

"you think it's tough now,"
"well come to Africa," now
drums unheard through pine

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