I want to write love poems

I want to write love poems

I want to write love poems from the autopsy reports

of the in-bound Dover dead, to use cold hard aluminum words

and scar into the stupored minds of the living

the vomitus stink and sludge of war-broken bodies.

I want to write love poems to the godly, kind, loving neighbors—

who shook the now-dead’s hands, telling him, telling her

of their hometown pride, thanking each for their iron belief

in fighting for freedom when freedom was never at risk.

I want to scratch love poems on the rag-draped caskets

to each sobbing mom and dad; to each bored, mediocre teacher;

to each blind pastor and priest, imam and parishioner

of church, temple, synagogue and mosque

who will attend the fat rituals of bleak, industrialized war-death.

I want to write love poems tattooing our brazen deceit

on these aluminum boxes of the commercialized dead:

lives snuffed out by our diapered refusals to say no.

 

 

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