Palestinian
children
and women
attempt to
protest apartheid,
fighting against
those borders and walls,
walking towards boundaries
where snipers sit
settled in
to shoot the innocent,
and continue
freedom's infringement.

Soldiers fire to take
the lives of those
they dehumanize.
Two thousand
are wounded
and fifty plus
dead.

My government is complicit
in these illicit
acts of violence.
We support and supply
the horrible ordinance
used to brutalize
and end those unfortunate lives.
Our politicians
spin blood red threads
into golden ***** lies
and celebrate the bad guys
who have no intention
of compromising,
the ones who
go on occupying
and terrorizing the Palestinian people.

Meanwhile,
state supported
media guys,
are televised
to tell us lies,
go on air
to share a side
that shames
and blames
the victims of
new atrocities,
by their favorite
allies,
repeating
reports of agitation
incited by
Hamas,
but no one on
the Israeli side
was wounded
or died.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
These will always remind me of him,
Of a boy that I can no longer claim to know.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
I always hated the fact that his hands
looked looked how I felt.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
the sign that I hadn't got there in time,
I hadn't stepped between him and the wall,
the wall that he so desperately want to crash against.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
it always ended this way;
the feeling still lingers.

Jamin Hollis has her residence in The Garden.
In The Garden, in the bloated blocks of Transit Town.
Behind the day shelter, beside the corner store.
Across the parking lot of the thrift shop.
Beyond the fluorescence of the pharmacy.
Right there, just a hop and a skip from the trains.
Right there, just a scoot from the bus barn.

Jamin Hollis is a rampant ***** and she needs,
she needs to die.

Jamin Hollis is a rampant ***** and indeed,
she'll die tonight.

Wait for the streetlights to dot the immediate sky.
Most of them are dead or flickering in the blocks.
Wait for the junk rats to leave for the metro line.
Most of them are dead or flickering.
If any open eyes remain on the sidelines, take a breath.
Collect your nerve and toss a penny on the pavement.
The eyes will blind to the shine and they will prostrate.

Bow with a force enough to imbed gravel in the forehead.

Jamin Hollis is a rampant ***** and she needs,
she needs to die.

Jamin Hollis is a rampant ***** and indeed,
she'll die tonight.

My nephew is making me play a different version of hide and seek.
This version involves a gun, if he finds me, things will become bleak.
In this version, if a player is found, he is killed.
I'm scared out of my wits, I'm sure not thrilled.

He said if I didn't play the game, he'd **** me on the spot.
He's trying to find where I'm hid but I hope he can not.
He is a twisted and totally evil child.
His parents have never disciplined him and he's running wild.

My nephew just found and shot me, I have a bullet in my chest.
My life is flashing before my eyes and soon I'll be laid to rest.
My wife and kids will be devastated when they learn that I bought the farm.
This evil little child needs to be killed or locked up before he can do more harm.

Threading tapestries

the tethered sparrow

laments the absent scream.

Imbrued admissions

of his Oedipal anguish

clenched in callous fist

spills claret. Erubescent sobriquets

and uterine trauma

blot leaves, and the pale palour

first kissed, then rouged by rancour,

a blush rose

blooming faintly

in the shade of vitriol.