How do these words fight,
Sprung as they are from the center of the blind tyrant’s heart
In the worldwide night?
What power has a poem
Against bullets marked with dollar signs
When in other homes
Those dollars break minds?
This, then:
That these words must war
Against the finger upon the trigger
And more, against dollars folded into paper bombers
Launched on the fingers of the righteous.
Then these lines destroy right
Pierce the night
Give words to those who have no tongues.
A few words, fallen from a feathered nest
Say fight,
Until the last breath has expired from your lungs.
On these wings we’ll devise between us,
From stupid, silly poems,
Build battlements of heart
To pour our boiling oil upon the poet,
Our enemy.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
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