Homonyms of the Dead
What war bore both in ore
and reward
to Halliburton ash flesh colonies
has left upon me
the poetry of cynosure.
I see
across the sea and am warm
under the same sun, yet
I wonder
are we all hearing in
the afterwars of guns the same
snap and crackle? What is this
sound from a casket today? A
homonym it must be, but
I doubt,
for surely no whisper
from a collapsing chest could
be discerned to be
some illusory and profound
thanks.
Mark Brunke
Posted over on Poets Against The War
No comments:
Post a Comment