The night conspiratorial,
A certain unfriendly bite to it,
heaviness like things undone,
Autumn is television cackle mahogany scented,
one creature making sense
Of its biology,
Legs and arms and hearts and minds entangled,
Until lethargic resignation
Slipping our memories in years to come,
Like we were absent from our bodies,
Fleetingly appalled at my abandonment,
To what extent do the walls know?

Last night communing with the,
much more than anything,
but still not quite,
echoing in worlds beyond this one,
if it pierces,
empties out carefully
What is it that is never quite,
intact or playfully,
ask the sages to reconsider,
paths to the sun,

Wonderful it will be to reach,
apexed or transcedent,
finger tips dusty or removed,
which is the endpoint subtracted,
faces that are familiar,
but are no more,
bottle green,
they are everything but sad,
dowsed in caffeine again,
heart is drowning in,
stolen courage,
the day passes away,
lost and fragmented.

As whisker-twister pauses, tho’ journey lingers on,
Sniveling and sneaking as he darts in shadows long,

And the Gallic peace; tranquility.

No food, nor sleep, no drink and no refuge, found anywhere in France,
Nowhere to run save forests, upon which he’s forced to take a chance,

And the Gallic peace; tranquility.

Scampering in shadows, with the hunter’s distance being closed,
Rodent Ambiorix, -little mouse, is paused and panting in repose,

And the Gallic peace; tranquility.

Frightened little mouse, run, yes run away,
Frightened little mouse you’ve come to rue that day,
For frightened little mouse, -Caesar’s on his way!

And the Gallic peace; tranquility.

So let’s consider what is meant
by rolling heads and bodies splattered…
time for Truth to represent
(as if such inconvenience mattered…)

Such events disturb our sleep
and force us to compose, on waking,
lullabies for drowsy sheep
as predators are overtaking.

Flags of doom and holy slaughter,
sons of Ishmael filled with rage
are coming for your wife and daughter
and yourself. You turn the page.

Rising now to storm your tower
(7th century back to bite you),
Allah brings satanic power
to convert you or to smite you.

****** dhimmis would have us think
such rage is due to unemployment;
pure confusion on the brink
of funding further troop deployment.

Meanwhile, mullahs sip their tea
while tenured academics prattle
watching MSNBC
as soldiers die in battle.

Belgium, we hear you.
Our tears fall at your loss.
One day, things will be okay, and the world will turn right-side up.

It won't be tomorrow, or in my lifetime, but one day, it will.
Until then, we hear you, and stand with you against the evil in this world.

Evil exists.
It is very real.
There are monsters in the shadows, gouls under our beds, and ghosts drifting outside our windows.
We are all but children playing in the dark.

Evil, and pain, and wrongdoings, and losses, exist all around us.
And one day, when we decide, they will go away.
Until then, we hear you.

They lay on Normandy.
Two hundred miles away, the empty shells of humans
Who lie below the streets
Felt the poison that lurked above.

They shuffled out of the underground,
Boarding trains and ships like corpses
And dropping bombs from miles above.

A little French boy is spared.
His brother whispers “Bon courage,”
As the rest of the family are taken out back
And shot like mad dogs.

Twenty years later, he stands on the beach
With his young wife
Watching their sons roll and play in the sand.

His tongue tastes a warm salt
That couldn't come from the ocean.
All he can taste from the ocean is blood.

I can see my grandfather clearly
With tears falling down his face
As his mother shuts the piano.
“There will be no music,” she says quietly.

She is an immigrant
And I wonder if she questions the choice
That brought her son to a country where he might lay down his life
For strangers, four thousand miles away.

I can feel him now
Hiding in the apple trees,
High above the others.
He is in Sainte-Mère-Église, and there are enemies below.

And now I take them in my arms
Cradling them like children
“Je vous embrasse, les deux,”
And I lie down on the edge of the ocean at Normandy.

I exhale and hold them close.
The sun is shining, and I do not cry;
It is nothing but salt and water to me.