I know that in some other dimension
—perhaps beneath a crease in the warp of time
They like to rip flesh off bits of bones
of lovers and friends
dress it up in spices and sauces for feasts—
And their kings do it, and they do
Children are taught, and
house-wives prepare them for special guests
Humans, wrapped in sacks, are sold
in markets— or traded like rice

I know some take pride in the love-kisses
their whips leave on flushed skins
And tallest of corpses are chopped like logs
—carried like crops; cleaned and
beautified— like porcelain; somewhere,
screams are sung on weddings and
Lyre strings talk about mothers’ pleas
Where gatherings of men and women and wealth
are served with their own roasted limbs

Where molestations await invitations
which are not scarce—
I know some like to beautify battlefields
and scattered fingers and ribs and feet and—
I know that tulips are planted in blasted skulls
And children leave paper-boats in warm, rosy puddles
— stars are extinguished for their
unbearable lights and moons are
exploded on festival nights—

I know you look at me and wonder
if I admire canvases gigantic
with stories loud and heroes bewildering
I know you ask of my role on this street,
at this moon, with you of all planets
—and plants, but I only
know of the canvases they burn

—and canvases they tear and
canvases used as shrouds and— canvases
that wipe away clogged ruby tears
I only know of the flowers I painted—
Colours I yelled at
for they were not bright
And the painting I buried under coats of white
for it was not pretty—
The memory I killed over and over and over and over and—
Watched the cadaver walk right through
its death

I know I was not called, nor welcomed
And I know there are worse wars to be ceased
but I only see the bruises on
this child’s dusty face, and bones—
bones and how they push at his ragged flesh
I know not of the demon that lurks within his shadow
Or what tales you carry under your glamorous suit
or what told him to try running with your coins—

And I know there are worse wars to be ceased
—I know there are worse wars to be ceased
and I know— but please for the sake
of dawn’s first ray, of sea’s first breath
don’t hurt him—