silent as
the   middle of the ocean
quiet as the spider in a corner
comforting no one and seeking
none
just being

We love them
like we know them,
like each camouflaged
back pack wearing person
is a mother, daughter,
father, brother,
sister or simple son.

We love them like
they are war heroes,
returning champions
from the greatest
Super Bowl ever.

We love them
like a steak
overheated,
tenderized,
walking till
their bodies cry.

We love them
like they are sheep
bleating from the beating
of bullets, bombs
and lack of sleep,
pushing on
in the long walk.
Till, fatigue takes
every smile and
daydream they ever had.

We love them
Like gods loved
their sacrifices;
Young men,
virgins to life,
slaughtered and worshipped
then denied
the decency
all sentient beings deserve.

We love them
Like they are
chess pieces;
Place women
and men
on the battlements
for the expansion of
capitalistic gains
that wears the guise
Of democracy.
What hypocrisy!

We love them
like we hate them
because they believed
enough to bleed.
While old men lie,
children lie in graves
six feet deep
to many columns wide
and to many rows long.
Even if they come home
they really don’t.

Sometimes it was a palace
Of gossiping cortesians
Ruled by a queen
With an army of rough men at her influence
A palace from which I, the demon,
Was forbidden to enter
A place of shared lunchables and rubber bangles
While I was relegated to chasing bugs
And swinging through branches

At other times, it was a prison
Guarded by four of the new queen's men
While they sat counting poker chips of bark
I sat plotting an escape
I could dash out and outlast any man
But in a confined land
They'd intersect my path, given long enough
And every time
They'd drag me back under by my coat sleeves
Kicking and shouting

And other times
When no one else was out
And the grounds were as silent as a winter's night
And the queen and her men were in the city
Arguing ranking amongst lords and ladies
I would be out on the parapets
Turning the fortress
Into my domain
A perch with a view of the whole kingdom
A castle owned by the wild dragon

Now I walk up to it
And watch the children upon it
And I remember my time
As a demon
A prisoner
And a fierce, unbridled dragon

63

If pain for peace prepares
Lo, what “Augustan” years
Our feet await!

If springs from winter rise,
Can the Anemones
Be reckoned up?

If night stands fast—then noon
To gird us for the sun,
What gaze!

When from a thousand skies
On our developed eyes
Noons blaze!

9
Cards
Nine
From A
Deck
To
Free ME.